Wonka Chronicles I: Adventures of Willy Wonka
by Wonkaverse
Summary: Willy Wonka's life continues in an epic struggle against his top competitor, who will stop at nothing to bring about his rival's downfall...  Sequel to The Truth Behind the Tour and The Great Glass Catastrophe.
1. CH 1: Eastern Operations

**Disclaimer:** All material of familiarity (Willy Wonka, Charlie Bucket, Oompa-loompas, etc.) is owned, copyrighted, and otherwise credited to the parties to which it belongs, that being Roald Dahl, who penned the book from which this story and its chapters are adapted, and perhaps Warner Bros. Studios for the production of the film adaptations of Dahl's book. This story merely borrows the characters for use in a different reality...the continuation of Willy Wonka's life.

**A/N:** In order to understand the plotline better, you should first read _The Truth Behind the Tour _and _The Great Glass Catastrophe, _the prequels to this story.

**A/N** Reviews help us improve the writing skills. Help this story improve by leaving comments or critiques.

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><p>CH1: Eastern Operations<p>

A thin mist rose above the ground, pale in the predawn light. The cool, moist landscape was still and calm; nothing moving except the occasional bird stirring to life in the bamboo forests.

The early morning silence was broken by the sudden resonance of a clashing gong. The servants of the Chinese household rapidly spring into action, ready to do their master's work. Their master is …

Willy Wonka, the candy maker, who bears an alarming resemblance to Michael Jackson.

Following an unfortunate experiment with some mind altering candy… and realizing that labor was much cheaper overseas… Mr. Wonka built a new factory in downtown Beijing. Finding that Oompa-loompas didn't respond well to the new climate, old Willy instead compensated with genetically engineered cybernetic panda bears.

And among these cybernetic pandas was the model p0, whose sole task was to carry the wood that fueled Wonka's candymaking machines. P0 wanted freedom, but he was Wonka's slave, and as he was Wonka's creation, he had no choice but to obey his master.

Little did he know, things were about to change… JR Chadworth, Wonka's foremost rival in the high-stakes candy industry, had not been dissuaded by the relocation of Wonka's factory. Jealous of Wonka's popularity, Chadworth was willing to do whatever it took to surpass Wonka's number one rating… even if it meant war. Though his past attempts had all failed, JR was sure that the latest plan was foolproof, and that success would soon be at hand. This morning, a team of disreputable men had met at Beijing's most prestigious hotel. They had reached a deal, and now the group of armed mercenaries was on its way to Wonka's factory.

P0 had been out in the forest, gathering wood, when he instinctively sensed something was out of place. He saw dark shapes moving stealthily among the foliage, creeping along the shadows. Switching to infrared vision, he realized the shapes were people. Releasing his load, he dropped to all four paws, ready to attack and prove his worth to Wonka. But at that moment, a mercenary appeared behind him, and leapt onto P0's broad shoulders. Accessing a control panel, he reprogrammed p0's loyalty software, making him subservient to their cause.

The bear lurched once, and then relaxed, turning to follow behind the soldiers. Two men moved up to the parameter fence and climbed it, carefully avoiding the invisible laser tripwire at the top. Pulling a pair of tiny mirrors from his pack, one of the mercs switched his eyepiece to display EM frequencies. Lining the mirrors up carefully with the ghostly line silhouetted in his vision, he dropped them into place with a swift motion. No alarms sounded, and the men relaxed.

_Meanwhile…_

Wonka was receiving his semiannual haircut in the barbershop located at the top of the central tower. A panoramic window allowed him a full view of his precious factory and the area around it. He proudly looked over the complex and the surrounding woodlands, marveling at its beauty, until distant movement caught his eye. Motioning to the Oompa-Loompa barber, Wonka asked him to stop trimming and hand him the high-powered binoculars that was kept there for moments like this. Scrambling frantically, the barber did as he was told. Wonka lifted the device to his eyes, adjusted the focus, and scanned the perimeter. Through the binocs, Wonka spotted the team of mercenaries, who thought they were virtually invisible. Enraged, Wonka leapt from his chair and sounded the alarm, calling for hundreds of cybernetic pandas that were designed to protect the compound from invaders.

The merc leader was halfway to the first building when the blaring alarm began to sound. "THEY'RE ON TO US!" he shouted, as massive hatches opened in the ground and a legion of bears poured forth. Setting their cute cuddliness aside, the pandas were vicious, biting off one trooper's head as he was still turning to face the danger. The mercenaries opened fire with their UMPs, ripping holes through the panda's bodies. One soldier pulled out an RPG-7 and fired into the portal from which they were emerging; a burst of flame erupted, and gooey bear chunks rained down from the heavens.

Debris and ash fell from the sky, and dark smoke swirled in the troops' vision. They all thought the battle had been won, and that the factory was theirs for the taking. But as the haze cleared, they watched in anxiety as the rubble of the portal began to shift, and a loud rumbling made the earth tremble. When the shaking reached its climax, the mercenaries saw a large, armored drill, driven by another cybernetic panda, emerge from the debris. A massive vehicle followed behind it, ripping out of the wreckage. The giant cylindrical transport turned, revealing a cargo door to the mercs. With a hiss, the hatch slid open… to reveal an Oompa-loompa shock trooper in heavy power armor, his suit so massive that he was effectively encased within a small mech. "TIME TO TAKE OUT THE TRASH!"The Oompa-loompa bellowed as he cocked a massive Gatling cannon attached to his right forearm, his voice distorted into a mechanical roar by his helmet speakers. The merc leader and his men rolled for cover behind blocks of shattered concrete, hunkering down as a hail of armor-piercing rounds screamed over their heads. Some ineffective return fire plinked against the heavy Loompa's armor, but it did no more that scratch the plating. One of the mercs stayed out in the open for too long, and the huge purple "W" on the battle suit's chest was the last thing he saw as the Oompa-loompa suddenly raised his left arm and fired a miniature RPG, obliterating him and several more of the troops. The mercenary leader swore. "WE HAVE TO DESTROY THIS THING!"

A deafening roar caught the mercs' attention. Five hundred pounds of black and white streaked toward the armored Oompa-loompa. It was the reprogrammed p0, who channeled his hatred for Wonka into brute force. He struck the mech, startling its occupant. Biting through the steel plating with his titanium fangs, he released a massive discharge of electricity through the vehicle, frying the circuits and burning the Oompa-loompa into a black crisp. "Nice!" the merc leader watched as p0 leapt off the smoking hulk of the battle suit, now leading the charge towards the factory.

Wonka's face was stony he watched the battle's progression through his binocs. Bidding his barber a hasty goodbye, Wonka left with only half a haircut. He headed to the underground part of the factory, which doubled as his lair. Entering a room, he looked around at the screens that lined the walls. Each one showed feed from security cameras, most of them trained on the battle that raged outside. He glanced at the Oompa-loompa technicians who were watching with him. "Well," Wonka said darkly, "time to send our friends a surprise." He pressed a large, red button.

Room after room of the first building was cleared without any sign of further resistance. It made the merc leader nervous. It was quiet, too quiet. "Sir, over here!" one of the troops had located an unmarked doorway leading out from the basement, an entrance to an underground tunnel. _This must be how the enemy moved around so quickly._ Doubtless the recipes for Wonka's candy would be in the central tower. The troops headed in its direction.

"What are we going to do?" asked one of the Oompa-loompa veterans, a burly specimen that resembled a miniature Arnold Schwarzenegger in a bright purple flak vest. "Nothing." Wonka replied with a grin. "We must let them come to us." "Yes, my Fuhrer." The Oompa-loompa replied. Wonka chuckled evilly.

The farther underground the troops progressed, the more construction they found. Passing through room after room of the massive subterranean complex, they found barracks, laboratories, briefing rooms, and several armories. But then they entered a huge, columned passageway, they knew that surely they must have reached their objective. At the far end, a smooth, steel door barred the way.

Wonka glanced at the screen. "Are they almost here? Is the weapon armed?" "Yes; final sequence engaged. Are you sure of this course of action?" Wonka's eyes narrowed, and the other Oompa-loompas glanced nervously at him. "Are you questioning my plan?" the Oompa-loompa who had just spoken hesitated. "Nein, my Fuhrer." Without warning, Willy suddenly pulled a giant razor-edged lollipop from beneath his coat and sliced off the Oompa's head. "Let no one else doubt me… now show our guests in."

The door opened at their approach, allowing what was left of the team of mercenaries to enter Wonka's lair. His back was to them as they entered, but he suddenly spun to face them. "I have been expecting you." The merc leader silently faced Wonka, gazing intently through his helmet's tinted visor while planning how to take down this frail-looking candymaker and make him hand over the goods using the least amount of ammunition.

"What have you come for?" Wonka asked peaceably, as if the armed, battle-hungry men before him were merely teatime guests. The merc leader shifted uncomfortably before answering. "We are here to seize the recipes for your legendary goodies. "Seize?" Wonka laughed a haunting, maniacal laugh that unnerved the remaining mercenaries. "You will seize nothing, my friends. No, I will give them to you." "What?" An appalled Oompa-loompa cried out, but was hushed by a hard look from Wonka. "You mean you will be willing to hand all the secret recipes to us, without a fight?" the merc leader asked suspiciously. "There _has_ been a fight," Wonka said, gesturing toward the scenes of the recent carnage, which were depicted on the screens. "There was a battle, and you won." Wonka murmured tiredly, sounding defeated. "But, before I give you the case of my precious recipes for you to abscond with, tell me… whom do you work for?" the merc leader glanced at his troops, then shrugged. It wouldn't make a difference if he knew now, the merc leader decided. "We are employed by none other than JR Chadworth," he said, "Now hand over the goods."

Wonka selected six of the stronger Oompa-loompas, who ran off into the darkest shadows of the chamber, and returned shortly after, bearing a large, wood-paneled case. "Open it," the merc leader demanded, skittishly. He suspected it was just a bomb of some sort. But the Loompas opened it, and there were only hundreds of sealed files that completely filled the box. Relieved, the merc leader pointed to his men, who picked it up, and exited through the tunnel. "Nice doing business with you, _sir_" the merc leader said, giving Wonka a mock salute. They entered the tunnels, not looking back. Wonka, as he watched the men leave, smiled evilly to himself. He pulled a detonator from within his coat, smirking as he watched the screens. _Very soon now…_

The mercs resurfaced outside the factory. According to their arrangement, the merc leader pulled out the special encoded cell phone he had been given. "Lodestar, package has been wrapped." "Roger." The mercs maintained a defensive formation around the case and waited; within a minute, the sound of helicopter blades approached from over the trees. A sleek, black chopper, bearing Chadworth's insignia on its side came in low over the fence and set sown. The doors opened, and two more armed men leapt out. Behind them came a black-clad figure, his eyes obscured by sunglasses. The merc leader paused. "Who are you?" "Charles Lavernius Chadworth, brother to the legendary JR." the leader warily glanced around. "You're under surveillance, sir." CL Chadworth laughed. "So what? My brother hardly cares if Wonka knows he's behind this!" He turned to the men with him. "Load it up. Well done, mercenary. Quite a job."

The two Chadworth security guards struggled to load the heavy case, but at last managed to wedge it in the chopper's main compartment. "Allow us to offer transportation home as a compliment to your efficiency." Chadworth and his guards leapt aboard, and the mercs followed them, the leader in the rear. He paused before boarding the craft. _Something didn't feel right…_

The door closed, and the chopper lifted off, heading away from the factory. Chadworth carefully slid the lid off the case and ran his hands across the sleek folders inside. He pulled out his cell phone. "WE'VE DONE IT, BROTHER!" he shouted above the din of the chopper's rotors. "Is it there, the crown jewel? The Everlasting Gobstopper!" "Let me see," Charles replied, rummaging through the files. Suddenly, he froze. The merc leader leaned over. "What is it, sir?" silently, Charles pushed files away to reveal…

Forty miles away, Wonka saw the indignant face though the feed sent by the hidden camera. Grinning vehemently, he pressed the detonator key. With a deafening BOOM, the chopper transformed into a miniature sun, shrapnel flying everywhere. And on the ground below, bloody chunks of flesh rained down. Candy-covered flesh.

"I'm a genius!" Wonka cried to no one in particular. "I give you Cannibal Crunchies, the world's first candy to incorporate raw human meat!"

One of the Oompa-loompas looked over at him with a slight frown. "Sir, I thought the point was to send a message to Chadworth, not make new products."

Willy sighed. "You're right. Cannibal Crunchies wouldn't sell in most civilized countries, anyway. In any case, go out to the crash site and see what you can… salvage. Cannibal Crunchies will be a limited edition product. One box only. And I want it sent to JR Chadworth."

A slim, well dressed man sat at a large desk in an impressive office. Everything was in order, and the room was moderately decorated with rare paraphernalia. The man was reading the contents of a thick file, not looking up even when his secretary came into the room and announced that she had a package addressed to him. The man ignored her, and continued to read the document, his face becoming flushed and his glasses crooked. "Mr. Chadworth…" The secretary prompted, trying to get his attention. The man slammed the file shut. It contained the details of the failed mission to the new factory of the eccentric Wonka. "What?" Chadworth demanded angrily as he straightened his glasses. The secretary, slightly miffed, handed him the package, which was wrapped in gaudy green and purple paper. A yellow "W" was stamped on the side. "Wonka." Chadworth muttered under his breath. Deftly unwrapping the package, Chadworth looked at the box." Cannibal Crunchies," it said on the front in bright, embossed letters. Below the title was a picture of the shocked face of the late CL Chadworth. "What the–?" the living Chadworth mumbled as he opened the box. The scent of melted candy and rotting meat filled the room. Chadworth looked in the box, swore loudly, then retched. After recovering, he murmured angrily, "This means war, Wonka. War."

After calling in some custodians to dispose of the unnerving package and decontaminate the room, Chadworth quickly strode out of his office and through the entryway. "Hold all my calls," he said, indicating to his secretary with a sword-like slash of his finger. He walked down to the end of the hall and turned left. He paused at the drinking fountain, which was always out of order for mysterious reasons known only to a select few, and pushed the button to get a drink. He held it for ten seconds, and a red light appeared in the drain. "Authorization?" a mechanical voice asked. "Chadworth-Alpha-One-One," he replied, and an instant later, the drinking fountain, along with a section of the wall, retracted. Following the passage beyond, Chadworth entered a secret elevator, which whisked him down to a hidden sub-basement of the Candy Research and Development buildings. "We weren't expecting you, sir," a white-coated scientist said in surprise as Chadworth stepped off the lift. "I am moving up my timetable!" Chadworth snapped. "How soon will it be completed?" "We need a few more days, sir…" the scientist said beseechingly, trailing behind him. "Good. You have twenty-four hours." Chadworth stopped; standing in front of the weapon that he hoped would spell Wonka's demise. Inside a specimen tank, it hovered, suspended in zero-gravity by a pair of repeller beams. It appeared to be an ordinary gumball…but it wasn't. Inside this seemingly innocent, sugary orb, was a mixture of microscopic nanobots, programmed to disintegrate flesh. Once released, they would become fully active, multiplying at an increasing rate, and seeking out living targets. Chadworth closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he savored the thought of ending his rival once and for all. _Soon Wonka, soon_.

A neatly wrapped package was delivered to Wonka's office. Wonka saw it immediately and went to examine it. He knew it was from Chadworth; the distinctive black and white "Chadworth Industries" insignia was stamped on the side. Knowing that Chadworth would not be thanking him for the ingenious Cannibal Crunchies, or for eliminating his younger brother, Wonka took great precaution in opening the box. He sent it to the testing room, which had been built with millions of micro sensors in the walls and floors. A two-way interface system was set up so that those inside the room could communicate with those observing without having to press any buttons. A video camera in the ceiling also allowed Wonka and several other Oompa-loompas watch as a test-loompa opened the box. The poor Loompa was severely frightened, even though he had done more dangerous things; but he hid his terror and bravely unwrapped the package. He tore the paper slowly and with great reluctance. At the first sound of tearing, everyone except Wonka cringed, expecting an explosion of some sort. But Wonka knew that primitive warfare was beneath Chadworth. His assumption was verified when the test-loompa removed the lid, reached into the box, and held up a red gumball. "Eat it," Wonka immediately commanded over a microphone. The test-loompa hesitated for a moment too long, afraid to comply. "Eat it, or I will have the cybernetic pandas eat _you_," Wonka said, icily. Wide-eyed, the Oompa-loompa popped the gumball into his mouth and chewed. Instantly, he started to scream in pain. Wonka watched in morbid fascination as the Oompa-loompa was speedily deteriorated from the inside out. He glanced at the information gathered by the micro sensors. "Nanobots. Impressive, even for Chadworth. We shall have to incorporate the use of those in the future." The Oompas who were observing with him looked at each other fearfully, afraid that one of them would be next test-loompa.

Wonka left the carnage in the testing room to work on a new project in his office, alone except for his thoughts. He was going crazy. Or perhaps he already was. _It is hard to be a candy making genius without being eccentric,_ Willy reasoned. And so he was eccentric, in his own, twisted way. He created new candy, new ways to make candy, and new ways to use candy; like using chocolate to smuggle explosives to his more infamous benefactors. Wonka sighed. A prim businessman like Chadworth could never understand Wonka's desire for power and sanity.

His reverie was interrupted by the shrill whistle of the intercom. He pushed the interface button. "What is it?" he demanded. "There is a problem, my Fuhrer. Pull up the surveillance on the testing room." Dropping the prototype Peppermint Ion Cannon that he had been tinkering with, Wonka typed in the command on the central computer, and instantly a video feed came up from the chamber, where the remains of the unfortunate test-loompa still lay on the floor in a bloody pile. But something was wrong… a dark red trail stretched from the Oompa-loompa's remains, across the floor, up the wall, and… Wonka's blood froze. The ventilation grate near the top of the wall had been shattered. He immediately pressed the interface key again. "OPERATIONS, SEAL OFF THE VENTILATION GRID FOR THE TESTING ROOMS, NOW!" the order was carried out almost instantly, and a dull thud echoed throughout the complex as heavy panels in the air shafts slid into place, effectively sealing off a portion of the ventilation system from the rest of the structure and trapping the nanites. A few moments passed as everyone in the factory waited tensely, hoping the threat was over. But a sickening noise made all but Wonka lose their nerve. The unmistakable sound of rapidly warping metal echoed through the air shaft as the rampaging nanobots began to multiply. They finally broke through the barrier and ascended the air duct, seeking out the life forms they had been programmed to destroy. One Oompa-loompa cried out hysterically to Wonka, who was calmly studying his nails. "What are you doing? Aren't you going to stop the nanobots?"

In the control room, the two Oompa-loompa technicians at the central operations panel glanced anxiously at each other. One of them spoke into his headset. "Sir, should this be considered a contamination lock-down?" Wonka's voice came back after a brief pause. "Affirmative. Now seal off the system." "Yessir. Engaging all vent locks…" A chilling scream came from the back of the control room, and the technicians turned to see what appeared to be a cloud of black smoke billowing out of the vents, emitting an angry, electrical buzzing, like a 10,000 pound, monochrome bumblebee with a serious case of rage issues. The cloud engulfed the two Loompa guards at the door, covering them; one came staggering out of the darkness, clutching his head, while the flesh melted off his bones. The younger of the two techs was paralyzed by fear, but the older veteran reacted with steely calm. They were as good as dead, but they had to save the rest of the factory. He furiously punched keys, ignoring the stinging pain in back of his neck as the first few nanobots reached them. He pressed ENTER, and the computer began to respond instantly. "Sealing Section 1… Sealing Section 2… Sealing Section 3..." Then it stopped. "Alert, main environmental control offline. Foreign matter detected in all sectors." The Oompa-loompa stared horrorstruck at the roiling cloud of approaching nanites. "No, No!"

Hearing the screams of terror over the intercom, Willy Wonka agilely leapt up from his chair and ran to the emergency locker in the corner of the room. Donning an emergency respirator, he also grabbed a chemical lantern, a remote uplink device for the master computer, and a jawbreaker pistol. He doubted that the gun or respirator would do much good, but they were better than nothing. Wonka strapped the uplink to his waist as he entered the elevator out of the underground. "Computer, status report." "Contamination in all underground sectors, Mr. Wonka. Nanites are spreading into topside structures." Wonka swore. The elevator doors opened, revealing a macabre sight. Three Oompa-loompas staggered toward the candy maker, blood flowing freely from their eyes and mouths. A swirling cloud of darkness filled the corridor behind them, and Willy felt a prickling sensation on his skin as he imagined the nanites decomposing _him_. Turning quickly, he sprinted to the right, futilely shooting explosive jawbreakers into the pursuing swarm of nanites. He burst through doors into sunlight, the angry buzzing close behind him. A security team of heavy Loompa soldiers was waiting for him outside the adjacent building, but suddenly the windows of the structure exploded. The black cloud rolled down and engulfed the heavies, penetrating their suits and killing them from the inside. Wonka didn't stop to watch; he continued running for the base of an enormous statue of himself in the center of the courtyard. "Be advised, Mr. Wonka, the computer intoned, "Contact with all security teams has been lost." _No one else had escaped, then_. "Computer, prepare Final Option…" Willy gasped breathlessly. "Code Wonka…two-seven…alpha-alpha…zero." "Code confirmed. Final Option implemented. Time… two minutes until detonation." Wonka reached the base of the statue and slapped his palm against the hidden biometric scanner, opening a door into the statue's interior. He scrambled up the ladder inside, steadily making his way toward the statue's golden top hat. The buzzing cloud reached out behind him, filling the lower part of the effigy with blackness. "Time…one minute." Wonka scrambled to the topmost platform, frantically punched in the security code on the hatch above, leapt in and slammed the hatch closed. "Time… thirty seconds." Wonka threw himself into the chair as the tiny escape craft came to life around him; long dormant systems coming online. "Time… ten seconds… nine… eight… seven…" Wonka finished strapping himself in, and held on. "Six… five… four…" a deafening roar started behind his back as the first stage engine cycled up. "Three… two… one…" Implementing final option now." Wonka slammed backwards in his seat as the statue's top hat lifted off, the head of the giant Wonka statue shattered. Rocket exhaust blasted outward as the statue's top hat lifted off, screaming upward into the open sky. "Warning," the computer intoned, "reactor detonation in progress." Miles below, the factory erupted in a brilliant sphere of white light, consuming Chadworth's mechanical scourge and the heart of Wonka's eastern operations.


	2. CH 2: The Rise of Wonka

**A/N**: a bit of background. Action will come in soon.

Chadworth and related entities are new characters not created by Dahl or the movie industries.

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><p>CH2: The Rise of Wonka<p>

Many have heard of the story: a young boy was deprived of goodies by his father. The boy gets his first taste of chocolate, which sparks a genius within in him. The boy leaves his family to make his own way through the world; to make a difference using the magic of candy making. The boy's name: Willy Wonka. But how did Wonka become the manic ruler he is now? How did he come to power, and how did he start his business? It all began when he was seventeen…

"William, make sure those crates get unpacked; they're fresh from the factory." "Yes, sir," the teenage Wonka replied. He had gotten a job as a clerk at the small candy shop owned by Stephen Xavier Chadworth. Willy was happy with his job; as he had a fondness for candy and the making thereof, he was excited every time a new shipment came. He was able to see new kinds of sweets that were manufactured at Chadworth's Candy Factory. The only thing that would make Willy even happier would be getting a job at the candy factory. Sometimes, he dreamed about owning one of his own, where he could create and use ideas that could change the world. With this hope in mind, Willy worked diligently, stacking crates and stocking shelves. Sometimes he assisted customers, but he was more than happy to leave social interaction to Chadworth's three sons: JR, Vincent, and Charles, who all worked side by side with Wonka in their father's store.

Willy lived in a small, one bedroom apartment that he could just barely afford. He kept the place immaculate, having just a few decorations. For example, his living room held only a dark sofa, a small television, and a glass coffee table. The only things he left on the table's polished surface were the mail and his prized top hat. Despite his simple accommodations, Willy was thankful for what he had, and preferred a sparsely decorated living space, choosing to own as little as necessary in case he would ever need to move out quickly.

On one particular day, Wonka arrived home and sat, sifting through the mail. He found an offer from a college. If he could pass a certain test, they would give him a full scholarship. Excited by this prospect, Wonka immediately dialed the number on the pamphlet and made an appointment to take the test. The exam was incredibly easy for Wonka; he had not yet figured out he was a genius. Though he only had a high school education, he scored a hundred percent on a test that would have made college graduates cry in despair. The amazed professors who looked over Wonka's test voted to enroll him immediately, and to pay for all the supplies he would need. So Wonka went to college, passing every course thrown at him with ease. And he still worked part time at Chadworth's candy store. He had become fast friends with the three Chadworth boys, and had great respect for Stephen Chadworth, although the boss rarely came in anymore. But everything changed shortly after Wonka turned twenty…

Willy Wonka had received his degree in several different subjects. He was smart- and he knew it. But he still worked as a clerk in Chadworth's candy store, never once being offered a promotion. He didn't mind that much, but he did want to give Mr. Chadworth some new ideas for candy making. On several different occasions, Wonka attempted to suggest his ideas to Mr. Chadworth, who merely brushed Willy aside, or avoided him entirely. Each time this happened, Wonka lost more and more respect for Stephen Chadworth until he felt no respect for the man at all. Soon, Wonka felt only contempt for Mr. Chadworth, and was willing to do anything to get rid of him.

The night was as dark as his intent, and Willy waited, clad in black, and clutching a hidden object in his right hand. Stephen Chadworth would be passing by; that would be when he would strike. Slow, casual footsteps soon approached, and Willy leapt forward, stabbing his target with the needle, injecting a powerful toxin into the man's system. Stephen Chadworth glared at Wonka, his eyes wide with surprise, anger, and shock. He began to gasp and convulse as the poison took effect over his body. "What…did…you do…to me?" SX Chadworth cried between spasms. "Isn't it great?" Wonka asked, malice dripping with every word. "It is a highly potent drug that _I_ created using cocoa beans and a splash of concentrated caffeine. It will make your heart beat so fast, that your body will be deprived of oxygen. As you suffocate, your heart's inner chambers will collapse, and you will_ die_." Wonka's former employer turned pale as the prediction came true. He convulsed twice, then lay still, his eyes open and unseeing. His killer gazed scornfully down at his pallid face, feeling no remorse for committing the murder. But before Wonka left the dead man where he lay, he planted incriminating evidence that would frame one unlucky soul…

Police soon found the mutilated body sprawled across the sidewalk. The victim had apparently been murdered; a large gash on his throat and torso, and spattered blood on the ground seemed to prove that he had been ambushed, sliced, and left for dead. The knife found embedded in the corpse's abdomen only verified this theory, and the weapon was sent to the lab for print testing. The body was transported to the morgue to await burial…

JR and Charles Chadworth stood together silently, listening to the reading of their father's will. They both received ownership of the store and factory, and had received equal shares of his wealth. They should have been happy to continue their father's legacy, and sad to have lost him, but they felt only anger. The prints on the knife had matched those of their brother, Vincent Anthony Chadworth. The other brothers had known that their brother had mixed in with the wrong crowd, and that he had done unspeakable things in the past, but he would never kill his own father! Vincent pleaded innocent, and JR demanded that an autopsy be done on their father. But the needle prick found on Stephen Chadworth's chest only seemed to incriminate Vincent even more. The drug injected by Wonka had since dissolved into the congealed blood, showing up only as traces of sugar and caffeine when tested by the scientists. Vincent was declared guilty, and was sent to prison at the age of twenty-one.

Now JR and Charles Chadworth owned and maintained the store and factory. Willy Wonka still showed up as usual, but seemed more cold and reserved since the night of the crime. One day, he politely asked JR to allow him to quit his job as a clerk. "Why do you want to quit, my friend?" JR asked, surprised. "I have enough money to start my own business now. I'm ready to leave." Wonka said, not meeting JR's eyes. "I could offer you a job in the factory…" JR coaxed. But Wonka refused. "Sorry. It's time for me to move on." JR reluctantly consented and gave Wonka his final paycheck. Before leaving Chadworth's Candy Store for the last time, Wonka looked back to JR and said quietly, "Vincent didn't kill your father." Then he left. JR only stood, mouth agape. What did Wonka know about Stephen Chadworth's death? JR and Charles Chadworth went to Wonka's apartment the next day to interrogate him, but the rooms were bare, as if no one had ever lived there. Wonka was gone.

_Six months later, in London, England…_

It was the most popular candy store in the city; probably the most popular candy shop in the world! Wonka's candies were unlike anything anyone had ever seen or tasted, and he made new creations every day. "Wonka is a candy making genius!" Everyone said. But Wonka was much more than that. He was the greatest genius since Einstein. Aside from candy, he developed new machines and new technology. By patenting and selling these new inventions, Wonka was soon able to accomplish his dream of owning a candy factory. He purchased fifty square miles of land and oversaw the construction of the factory himself, as he had a major in architecture. After three years of building, Wonka's giant factory was ready to go into business. But the time of peace did not last long. Among Wonka's workers were spies; even spies from the Chadworths, who had since built up Chadworth Industries from their father's small store and factory. Angry because of the infiltration and for having his genius exploited, Wonka fired all his workers and closed his factory. But closing the factory didn't stop Wonka from inventing new candy and new mechanical wonders. In the years that the factory remained closed, Wonka invented a cloning machine, mind alteration tools, and the legendary glass elevator and its rails. His factory itself became a marvel. It had the most intricate system of pipes and tubes in the world, and the whole place was monitored by an AI computer.

Exhausted from all this busywork, Wonka took a vacation to the jungles in the heart of Africa, where he found the Oompa-loompas. He brought them to his factory, promising safety and well being. And so the Oompa-loompas worked and lived in the factory. Wonka was in business again. But all the stress of Wonka's life was transferred into one silver hair…

The legendary hunt for the Golden Tickets ensued soon thereafter, throwing the world into a frenzy in search for the most sought after of prizes. The lucky finders of the tickets were four children, who were taken along on the notorious Tour of Wonka's factory. After the tour, and finding that four of the children were very naughty and were not deserving of taking his place, Wonka selected his heir -Charlie Bucket- and reconciled with his own father. The dawn of a new day was happy, and the factory began to grow as the combined minds of Charlie and Wonka invented new things. Everything would have been fine. Wonka would have grown old happily, and Charlie would have taken over running the factory. Everything would have been fine, if it hadn't been for the Chadworths. JR and Charles Chadworth had harbored malice for Wonka since his rise to fame. Their suspicions had grown over time. Now they didn't think Wonka knew their father's killer; they believed he _was_ the killer. Although their assumption was correct, and Wonka really had murdered the man, no one believed them. Their brother was still in prison, and would still be for many years yet.

Until this point, JR and Charles had fought Wonka with spies and candy sales. But when Wonka claimed his heir, the Chadworths saw their opportunity to ruin Wonka's dreams. They hired a group of notorious mercenaries to find and destroy the heir and his family, which they did with cold precision and speed. In destroying Charlie Bucket, the mercenaries also destroyed Wonka's deep compassion and peace of mind. Though his sanity became fractured, his hopes and dreams remained intact at the cost of his Oompa-loompas' sense of freedom. They became his "comrades", and he became their "Fuhrer". And when the first Loompa clones were generated, they were given numbers instead of names, and were assigned to certain tasks. Embittered by the loss of his heir and greatest friend, Willy became driven by the manic thought that one day he would avenge Charlie's death; that he would wipe out the name of every last living Chadworth from the face of the earth. And so the reign of Fuhrer Wonka began


	3. CH 3: A Chilling Surprise

**A/N** Continues from Chapter One. The real action begins. Reviews encouraged.

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><p>CH3: A Chilling Surprise<p>

JR Chadworth grinned triumphantly as he watched Wonka's Oriental Factory go up in a ball of flame. He relished the moment, the explosion and roaring of flames sounding like music to his ears. _Wonka is dead… _He had avenged the deaths of his family, and had rid the world of his arch nemesis. _Now I will be the number one candy maker; victory by elimination_, he thought gleefully. He gazed intently at the screen; the feed sent to him through the eyes of p0, who now worked for Chadworth, though he was allowed to live in the wild. But neither p0 nor Chadworth saw the escape pod that contained Wonka, electronically stored candy recipes, and DNA patterns for cloning Oompa-loompas. The small craft soared into the sky, taking Wonka to another facility, located in the refreshing subzero temperatures of Antarctica.

The escape pod slammed into the frozen ground, throwing snow and ice particles outward in a spectacular shower. "Mr. Wonka, coordinates have been reached." The computer intoned. "Understood," Wonka coughed, prying himself out of the tiny seat and struggling to catch his breath. The stress of a rocket launch followed by an atmospheric reentry was a little more than the candy maker was used to. Wonka pulled the hatch release and staggered out into the freezing cold, the frigid wind ripping at his cloak. After his eyes adjusted to the twilight of the extreme south, Wonka pulled the computer uplink off his waist and held it out in front of him, activating the tiny scanner inside. Though one mainframe was destroyed, the computer was unaffected, its programming safe in cyberspace… and in another pair of physical servers, one embedded in the ice beneath him. This factory had originally been an emergency fallback position, nothing more. But now… Wonka had been following the scanner beam, the chirps from the device becoming faster and faster. Now, with a steady ringing tone, the uplink was directing his attention downward. Wonka bent and brushed away snow, revealing a metallic cover set into the ice. Lifting the plate, he locked the uplink into a slot in the control panel underneath. Lights flickered and flashed, and a moment later, a crackling sound came from beneath the ground. A huge pneumatic piston, easily ten feet in diameter, rammed upward from under the ice, a section of its wall hissing open to reveal an elevator. Wonka stepped inside, and the computer voice greeted him from the speakers inside. "Welcome, Mr. Wonka." "How long until this facility will be fully operational?" he inquired. "Estimate… twenty-four hours until full mechanical activation. The first Oompa-loompas will be online in seventy-two hours allowing for genetic encryption." "Very good. Is pod recovery underway?"

"Affirmative. Drones deployed."

Wonka smiled. Automation was wonderful.

Harsh, freezing winds blew seemingly continuous swirls of snow between the ice-encrusted spires and smokestacks that poked above the frozen ground. The towers spewed large clouds of smoke and steam that glowed dark purple for a moment in the perpetual dusk, then were dispersed in the gale. All around, there was nothing but an icy, barren wasteland, packed hard and uninhabitable. In the distance was the ocean, black and ominous, stretching to the horizon…

_500 meters below ground…_

Wonka, wearing his customary top hat and his usual plum-colored regalia, gazed proudly from the third level balcony at his fully functional factory. Antarctica had been an ideal location, shielded from the rest of the world and nosy competitors. Aside from the subzero temperatures, the place was perfect for an insane mastermind and his business. The candy making machinery provided warmth for the whole underground complex, which spanned many miles. And the ocean would eventually provide a route for the submarines Wonka planned to build. Since his arrival, many Oompa-loompas had been cloned and were already at work, maintaining the machines and building new corridors. Unknown to JR Chadworth, Wonka was back in business.

Wonka was escorted by several Oompa-loompa scientists through the brightly illuminated corridors of the Eastern Wing. Their rhythmic footfalls echoed strangely through the corridor, causing working Oompa-loompas to glance in the party's direction. Wonka paid them little attention; his mind was too preoccupied with the so-called mystery that the scientists had uncovered. They finally arrived at the newly constructed testing room, complete with lights, micro sensors, and a shatterproof window. "Where was it found?" Wonka inquired. "Just a klick to the south, by one of the surface engineers," one Loompa replied. "Hmm." Wonka mused, as he stepped to the window. In the center of the room, resting on its side, was a large object.

It appeared to be metal, though it was impossible to tell for sure. It had been twisted and scorched, its shape distorted, but it was definitely part of a larger structure. It was blackened by carbon buildup, but underneath it appeared to be an iridescent blue. Wonka glanced over at the technician. "Have you done materials testing on it yet?" The Loompa nodded. "It appears to be a unique isotope of…well; truthfully, it would be difficult to say, my Fuhrer. It shows characteristics of several different materials, both metals and nonmetals. It is definitely artificial, a sort of titanium-plastic amalgamate. It is resistant to temperatures up to 38000 K." Wonka cocked an eyebrow. "Then why is it all scorched up like that?" "The damage suggests an explosion of incredible magnitude…" "…like an alien ship blowing up in the Earth's atmosphere?" "Sir, you just ruined it for the audience." Wonka grinned "I know. I've been reading ahead in the script." The Oompa-loompa scowled at him, but at that moment, an alarm sounded in the chamber. "Sir, we're picking up an unusual biological reading in the testing room!" The technicians worked madly at their panels, steering a large robotic arm down from the room's ceiling. The mechanical limb moved over and carefully scanned the wreckage with a miniature sensor probe, then retracted it in favor of a mechanical claw. Lifting the panel of metal, the technician revealed a mass of glowing green ooze, which sluggishly pulsated in the light. "I wonder if this is some type of intelligent life." The Loompa technician whispered, awestruck. But Wonka wasn't listening. He was thinking of Chadworth…

The bewildered Oompa-loompas looked over to Wonka, who was lost in thought. He stared at the seemingly dangerous blob on the ground. He turned suddenly, moving toward the adjacent room, where more technicians furiously punched at their keypads, translating the information gathered by the sensors in the test room into readable text. Wonka skimmed through the words on the screens as the Oompa-loompas watched in silence. After a few moments, Wonka returned to the viewing area, with a serious look on his face. "It's not alive, at least, not in the sense we are. Its molecules move in erratic patterns that simulate biological life readings and cause the mass to glow." He paused, thinking, "I would like you to run tests on this…thing, and tell the aboveground workers to keep an eye out for other anomalous substances." "Yes, my Fuhrer." The Oompa-loompas scrambled to accomplish their new directives. Wonka continued to gaze through the window. _I will have revenge…._

He stepped swiftly onto the sub's command deck, his gait sure and quick. An automated voice intoned, "Captain on the bridge," as Wonka made his way to the Captain's seat. "Progress report." "Breaking through the submerged ice and stone, using the drill mounted on the hull… estimated time until emerging on the other side, twenty minutes." replied the lead Oompa technician. "All engines are fully functional," reported the engineer over a speaker. "And the nuclear reactor is maintained and stable," chimed an Oompa scientist. "Excellent. Soon we will have created a tunnel through the continent." said Wonka. "We will have an extra escape route, and a place to construct the underground docking bays. Has the work on the undersea base begun?" "Yes, Fuhrer," the first mate immediately responded. "Good, very good indeed," Wonka murmured, smiling. They were on board Wonka's first submarine, the _W-sub_. It had been created using material synthesized from the alien metal. It was highly resistant to damage, undamaged by great amounts of heat, radiation, and pressure, yet was reasonably pliable when subjected to the perfect combination of all three. Soon, there would be a whole fleet of these nearly indestructible submarines, used to protect the undersea base, patrol the waters around the Antarctic factory, and smuggle goods around the world. After the _W-sub_'s maiden voyage, and the completion of the passageway, the sub resurfaced and docked in the surface harbor. Though it was only a temporary holding area until an underground docking bay could be constructed, \Wonka still did not look forward to the sudden exposure to the extreme temperatures and blistering wind.

Despite his aversion to the chill, Wonka resolutely led the crew out of the sheltered cove. They travelled for 100 meters until they reached an icy outcropping, where an aboveground team had been sent to wait for them. Saluting brusquely, they ushered their leader and the sub crew into a tank-like vehicle that had been designed specially to navigate the unpredictable surface of Antarctica. The vessel soon brought them to a command post that had been built to shelter the main entrance shaft into the factory. Wonka and his crew alighted from the craft, and he dismissed the surface crew to their regular duties. Those remaining were permitted to enter the compound by several security-oompas, who crisply saluted as Wonka and the sub crew passed them to use the elevator. Wonka nodded his approval of their display of respect, then descended into the factory.

Over cups of hot butterscotch and buttergin, Wonka spoke to the scientists about the testing done on the alien substance that had been found on the side of the metal panel. "It is highly resistant to flame, remains whole in water, and absorbs shock from gunfire. It is nearly indestructible." "Nearly?" Wonka asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, we discovered that it dissolves when it comes into contact with a certain isotope of sodium." "Hmm." Wonka rubbed his chin as he pondered a moment. "You know, Willie," one of the younger scientists said, clearly drunk over the butter gin, "We could combine it with certain materials to hinder the deterioration caused by sodium." Wonka's eyes flashed with anger when the oompa referred to Wonka as "Willie", but he could see the infantile idiot had a point. Wonka decided to punish him _afte_r he completed the proposition he had made. "All right, then," Wonka said, his eyes betraying a glint, "You all have seven days to synthesize a combination of the alien substance and some other material that would make it impervious to great amounts of damage." The Oompa-loompas who weren't intoxicated remained silent and stared uneasily at each other as Wonka rose and left.

All the alien research and product testing had driven Wonka's attention away from candy selling. He noticed the drop in sales during one of the weekly staff meetings. "Comrades," he said, addressing the group of hand-selected Oompa-loompas, "We are all conscious of the drop in sales. Though our location is secret, and we must smuggle our goods via submarine, the sales must continue!" The Oompa-loompas murmured their consent, well aware of the decrease in business, and not wanting to anger their idiosyncratic leader. "But what new candy is there to be made? How can we recapture the world's attention?" The Loompas remained silent, knowing Wonka already had a plan. "The answer is in forming the WSP: Wonka Secret Police!" "And what would the functions of this group entail?" an older Oompa-loompa inquired. "The WSP would go throughout the world, undercover, and would search for ideas and report them to us. The WSP would execute any mission requested of them, like spying on our enemies." A dark look crossed Wonka's face as he said this. "How will you decide which oompa-loompas are on this team?" another curious Oompa asked. "Simple," Wonka replied, "If no current Oompa-loompas qualify for the position, we can create specially enhanced clones, purposely designed for combat and espionage. Preparations will begin immediately." "Yes, Fuhrer," the Oompa-loompas said together, saluting to Wonka as they left. Alone, Wonka grinned to himself wickedly. _Soon, I will re-dominate the world of candy making. _

_England_

JR Chadworth sat in his new office, breathing in the fresh smell. _With Wonka out of the way, the world will soon forget him and his marvelous candies._ _And I will be number one on the business charts_, Chadworth thought. His products had been selling well, mainly because Wonka was out of sight, and Chadworth's scientists developed new candy recipes every other week. With business booming, Chadworth had expanded his factory, allowing him to occupy a larger, more lavish office, the one he was now in. "Ah…sweet victory." Chadworth sighed contentedly.

Unbeknownst to him, four two-foot tall agents crept toward the front gate of Chadworth Industries at this time, careful to avoid the sight of the security guards at the front gate. Stopping in the shadows of the parking garage, they waited. Hours passed, and the work day drew to an end. Hundreds of Chadworth employees would be leaving for home, and one unlucky person would have an unfortunate… accident. The time came, and the four Loompa agents poised for action. Suddenly, they struck, knocking down a middle-aged man. Stunning him with a well-placed jab, they shoved a gag in his mouth and dragged him into the darkness, unnoticed by the other homebound employees.

When the man came to, he realized he was in a small storage room and had been tied down to a chair; and that the gag had been removed from his mouth. He took this opportunity to call out, but was instantly silenced by a punch to the face. Turning, he saw the black-clad, armored Loompas. "What the-" The man began, but received another stinging blow to the jaw. Silent, the man stared wide-eyed at his captors, wondering if he was only dreaming about dwarf ninjas. The leader stepped forward. "If you tell us what we want, you will not be harmed." This made the man's blood turn cold, but he slowly nodded. "Tell us about… Chadworth's newest recipes. What's in them? How does he make them?" "No, I can't…" the captive struggled to keep his fear from showing. The lead agent's face was grim as he held up a syringe containing a lucent, pink liquid. "We call this Giggle Juice." He said gravely, "It's our term for highly concentrated, sugar based truth serum, cotton candy flavored. Just one cc of this and you'll be singing like a bird." "Try me," the hostage spat defiantly. "I'm a loyal employee. You can't make me talk." "On the contrary," the leader said, stepping forward, "I can." as he shoved the syringe into the man's arm.

Wonka's eyes glimmered as he skimmed through the report. The WSP has done well for its first mission, and had extracted juicy details that would undoubtedly enhance Wonka's enterprise. The unfortunate hostage had been dumped near the hospital, where he sat, babbling to himself about his deepest secrets and miniature ninjas. Doctors had taken him inside, examined him, and deemed him insane. He was to be transported to the nearest mental institute. Too bad the drug will wear off in twenty-four hours…

Having finished looking over the report, Wonka left his desk. He was eager to get to his appointment with the scientists. Their week was up, and Wonka anticipated the results as he walked to the labs, located in the deepest portion of the factory. He entered the first and largest room of the laboratory, used for displaying and monitoring a newly finished product. The scientists were gathered around one of the specimen tanks, which was filled with bluish fluid that frothed with oxygen bubbles. Curious, Wonka slowed his pace, hoping to catch some of the scientists' conversation. "It's remarkable," one was saying, "Yes, but is it a good thing? Would Willie, I mean _Mr. Wonka_, approve?" It was the younger one, the one who had insulted Wonka before. Apparently he still needed to be disciplined. Wonka made a mental note of this, and moved forward.

They heard his footsteps and turned as one. "Fuhrer!" they all exclaimed anxiously. "Is it ready?" Wonka asked. "Yes, but we are not sure how pleased you will be with the result." Wonka peered into the tank. Inside was an orange, fist-sized blob that glowed, pulsed, and _swam_ on its own. "What in the world?" Wonka exclaimed in surprise. "We discovered the substance combined well with a conglomeration of silicon, collagen, and sugar, but during the mixing process, the atoms fused together anomalously, somehow creating a living, gelatinous organism," the head scientist explained. "Hmm. Living, you say," Wonka murmured, thinking of some way to put this to his use. "Is it pliable?" "When first created, yes," said another scientist, "But after a few moments of being exposed to air, it hardens just enough to retain its shape." "Excellent!" Wonka said, a smile foreshadowing the existence of another scheme. "In that case, I would like you to send the synthesis formulas to the GUMMY BEAR department." "But…" objected one scientist. "That is an order," Wonka said, frostily. "Yes, Fuhrer," the Oompas replied. Wonka turned from them, frowning slightly. Apparently, the newer batch of Oompa clones didn't receive enough of Wonka's patented Subservience Serum before being sent to work. Wonka made a note to repair this in the future.

_GUMMY BEAR department… _

"I want this mold modified according to the following specifications." "For extra-large gummy bears, my Fuhrer?" "Yes, Extra-large… and extra deadly." "Yes, my Fuhrer. You understand this will take some time." "I have time. But you would do well to use it wisely…"

The four members of the WSP stepped into the glass elevator and pushed the button for WONKA'S OFFICE. The elevator skimmed quickly along greased rails, and the Loompas inside gazed in awe at the factory complex they called home. They were whisked past countless candy making rooms where scientists and technicians bustled in and out, glancing down at their clipboards and moving out of the way when patrolling Loompa soldiers passed by. The elevator zoomed through the enormous chocolate room, with its sugar-mint grass and chocolate waterfall. And, after a few moments, the elevator arrived at Wonka's office, a large, forbidding room where Wonka lurked when he wasn't patrolling his factory. The glass doors slid open, coinciding with the *ding* that signaled that they had arrived. The team leader stepped out first, hoping the others wouldn't notice his apprehension. The other three followed determinedly, and as one, they marched forward until they stood before Wonka's desk. "Heil Wonka!" Wonka suddenly appeared from behind his desk, as if summoned by the WSP's greeting. "Ah, the WSP…" he said warmly, looking down at them. "Well done on your first mission. Because of you, sales have soared above expectation." At this token of affirmation, the team leader beamed. Wonka continued, "Are you ready for your next task?" "We'll do as you command, Fuhrer," they answered together. "Good. Now, there is a certain Oompa-loompa who needs to be…disciplined. As you all know, Subservience Serum will not work on a fully activated Oompa, so you will have to deviate from traditional castigating methods when correcting this one." The four Oompas felt bewildered from the implication, but they knew they had to carry out their orders. One Oompa-loompa would not be resting tonight…

Lab Technician 51 was missing the next day. Most of the Oompas figured he was ill. But the experienced knew- Wonka's wrath had finally caught up with the younger lab member. Only a few had heard the blood-curdling shrieks that pierced the night, screams of intense pain as the WSP carried out the task of "reeducation". Now 51 was a completely subservient Oompa-loompa. Another infraction on his part would definitely mean a slow, painful death to serve as a warning to any other rebellious, insolent Oompa-loompas.

The lights in the cargo bay went out, and a moment later the rear ramp of the huge Lockheed C-130 began to drop. The four Oompa-loompa paratroopers stood up from their seats, made one final check of their gear, and moved to the back of the plane. "Switch to oxygen," the commander said, and his troops clipped their masks into place. At this altitude, they would surely pass out if they tried to go for more than a few minutes without supplemental O2. A tiny red light came on above the ramp, and the Loompas' eyes locked on it. "Ten seconds," the pilot's voice came over the speakers. "Over the target area." "Roger," replied the team commander. He waited, poised. The light turned green. "GO!" the Oompa-loompa team ran as one to the end of the ramp and jumped, launching into a headfirst freefall. They knifed down through the cloud layer, flattening their trajectories as they did so, their bodies now parallel to the ground. Underneath the clouds, the bright moonlight at high altitude was blocked; the only light came from the city and harbor below. The commander watched the altimeter on his wrist. Five thousand feet… "Pull chutes!" With a pull of cords, four black parasails blossomed into life. The commander was jerked upward, swung, and stabilized. "Switch to night vision." Raising his hand to his temple, he activated the goggles attached to his helmet, and the world was bathed in neon blue. The system was somewhat different than that used by the military, and far more advanced. Zooming in on his heads-up-display, the commander identified their target. The freighter lay at anchor in the harbor, the Chadworth logo on her smokestack visible even from this height. The Oompa-loompas drifted downward, steering themselves toward the massive vessel and the rows of cargo containers on deck. They were close enough now…

Locking his chute's steering mechanism for a few seconds, the commander reached behind him and pulled out a modified MP5, silenced and built custom-sized for Oompa-loompa hands. He flipped open an extending stock, and put the gun to his shoulder. A red crosshair appeared in the center of his visor. Scanning the freighter's deck, he identified three guards within his field of view: one at the bow, one atop a stack of containers, and one aft. "Ready," came a voice in his earpiece. "Take 'em down," he replied. Centering the middle guard's head in his sights, the commander fired a three-round burst, all but silent between the effort of the suppressor and the rushing of the air. Blood spattered and the man dropped instantly, at the same exact moment as the other two collapsed and fell from view. Holstering the gun, the Loompa commander unlocked his chute and angled toward the top of the container he had just cleared. His feet touched steel, and he slapped a control plate on his chest; his chute almost instantly whipping itself back into its storage rig. Three other equally deadly figures alighted on adjacent containers and retracted their chutes, unslinging their guns. "We need to get to the engine room," said the commander. The result of this mission would be a small blow, and one not initially attributed to its giver, but it was still necessary. The Fuhrer's pride was at stake, and the annihilation of a factory could not go unanswered. Attaching magnetic pads to their gloves, the Loompas silently descended the container stacks to the deck; a guard rounded the corner just below the commander. A throwing knife flashed, and the man fell with blood spurting from his throat. Retrieving the knife, the commander gestured, leading his men toward the stern of the ship.

The captain stood on the bridge, smoking a cigarette. He would set sail in the morning with thousands of tons' worth of delicious candy, but what should have been an easy job was turning into a nightmare. Since the destruction of Wonka, increased security was now mandated on all shipments as a precaution against any vengeful attacks by Wonka's supporters. The captain glanced at the wall clock: 1:00 AM, time for the hourly security check. He keyed his walkie-talkie. "Sykes?" No answer. "Sykes? Come in, Sykes." Those idiots; they were probably on the dock, drinking beer. Useless. The captain turned to the two security men on the bridge with him. "Go see what those imbeciles are doing. If we're lucky, they've fallen overboard and drowned." The men nodded and left the bridge, heading down the stairway to the deck. There was a muffled thump, and the captain looked up from his charts. From outside, he heard the voice of Johnson, the security chief. "Hammond? HAMMOND? Oh my g…." There was a horrible choking sound, a few labored breaths, and then silence. The captain backed toward the emergency telephone, his eyes on the yawning doorway and his hand on the butt of the .357 revolver in his belt. He keyed the phone. "Get me Chadworth. Hurry!" Something scraped on the bridge roof, and the captain's eyes darted upward. Something moved on the stairs outside. The line transferred, and a sleepy voice answered. "Who is this?" "Mr. Chadworth, this is Captain Breisch. I think…" the line clicked. "Hello?" Breisch asked. "HELLO?" The sounds from outside had stopped. Breisch yanked the .357 from his belt, holding it in front of himself, like a ward against some supernatural evil. "WHERE ARE YOU?" he screamed, sharply aware that he was already surrounded. "Here." Breisch whirled… and didn't see anything. The Loompa commander sighed. Sometimes he hated being short. "No, dude. Down here." Breisch looked down and let out a yell of terror as a throwing knife whipped toward his face.

"That would have been a lot cooler if he had seen me the first time," the commander complained as he wiped off his blade. "I mean, I feel like a hobbit or something here. " "Actually, we're shorter than hobbits," one of his men said as-a-matter-of-factly. The commander glared, and then stitched up the impudent soldier with a burst of automatic fire. "Enemy got him; you all saw it." The commander said, and his other two troops responded with an immediate "Yes, sir!" "Now, where's that bomb?" Creeping from shadow to shadow, the Loompa commandoes made their way down to the freighter's engine room. A few of Chadworth's crewmen passed by, blissfully unaware of the carnage topside, but the Loompas ignored them. They didn't have long to live anyway. Planting charges on the ship's main fuel tanks, the commander set the timer for five minutes. More than enough time. On the way up, their path was obstructed by two crew members who stood talking at the topside hatch, enjoying a smoke before the ship set sail. Two shots rang out… just as one of them dropped his cigarette. One man fell, killed by a headshot. The other bullet came so close to the second man that it grazed the back of his neck. He shouted in pain and surprise, looking over to see… The man turned and ran for it, a volley of bullets sparking on the steel behind him. "Quickly, men!" the commander cried, and his two troops leapt up the stairs. The unfortunate crew member was heading for the cover of the containers when a bullet punched through the back of his skull.

Reconnecting their oxygen masks, the remaining Oompa-loompas dropped overboard, swimming underwater until they were out of sight of the shore. Once safely invisible, they surfaced, looking back as… The freighter erupted in a colossal blast, fifty-foot containers soaring through the air like toys. The commander activated a beacon, calling in a submarine to pick them up. The message had been sent.

Chadworth stared disbelievingly at the report. At approximately 1:15 AM, the transport ship _Amber Sky_ had mysteriously exploded, incinerating the crew and scattering the cargo- thousands of tons of Chadworth candies. Chadworth now recalled the phone call he had received around 1:00 that morning. He also remembered the panic in Captain Breisch's voice, and how his call was cut off. Chadworth was positive that the incident had to do with Wonka. He glanced down to closely inspect a sales report, only to see that Chadworth sales had gone down significantly, and that Wonka candies had been selling like mad all around the world. "But… Wonka is dead…" he stammered. But seeing how the boom in Wonka products coincided with the news that his own ship had been unexplainably obliterated, Chadworth began to doubt that the legendary candy maker had died with his factory. "Wonka is… alive?"

The remaining Oompa commandoes had been retrieved just minutes after the signal had been sent. Safely aboard the submarine, they were debriefed by the Oompa-loompa who was the head of military operations. "What happened to OS-24?" "Cut down by the enemy," the lead commando replied, glaring at the others, who hastily nodded in agreement. "Oh, well. There are always replacements back at base. Did you leave any evidence?" "Only the bodies, and the bullet shells; all scattered by the explosion," the leader replied. "Good. The Fuhrer himself commends you all on a job well done, and wants to know if you are ready for another mission." The commandoes glanced wearily at each other before replying. "What kind of mission?"

The three newest members of the WSP followed behind the other four, becoming one with the inky shadows. _Why can't we ever do daylight missions?_ The former commando leader complained to himself, sulky for not having been chosen to lead the mission. He glanced about warily as he brought up the rear, alert for any danger. They skirted past streetlights, skillfully avoiding the nightlife passerby. "Fifty meters to the right," the mission leader said over the transmitter. The direction was sent to the other six via helmet radios. Together, they quickly made their way to the target, a large storefront bearing a faded Chadworth symbol. Using the darkness for cover, the team went into action. One Loompa used a descrambler to break the security code, as another used a lockpick on the door. A loud *click* resounded moments later, and the door swung open. The team was in. "Activating night vision." The darkness in the store turned to blue light as the Loompas made the switch with their helmets. Able to see clearly, the Oompas glanced around the store. "Over there," one whispered. The team leader looked up and saw the red, unblinking light of a security camera in the ceiling. "Split up. Disable any cameras in the area." No sooner said than done; each Oompa searched for the cameras, disabling each one with a quick shock from a mini ARC caster. This having been accomplished, the team regrouped, searching as one. "Found it," an Oompa called out. Nodding, the team leader pulled a charge from his pack. After placing it on the main gas line, he then stepped back and turned to the others. "Mission accomplished. Let's move out."

But the door suddenly opened, and an angry night guard stepped in, turning on the lights and brandishing an M9. "Freeze!" he yelled. The sound of silenced gunfire sliced through the air, and the body of the now dead guard fell to the ground, blood seeping from the fatal wounds. "Let's go!" The team leader called, more urgently now. He holstered his gun and followed his team. They all dove for the open door, only to be turned back by the flash of approaching police lights. The Oompas ran for cover in the store as policemen came rushing in. "Sir! We have a casualty!" an officer called out. Detectives rushed in to examine the bloody victim. Silently, the Oompa leader gave a signal, and each of the seven aimed upward, shooting out the lights. "Reactivating night vision…"

The policemen ran for cover, and called for backup. "The murderer is still on the premises, and is armed," one said into his radio, "Requesting backup." The Oompas waited tensely. EMTs had dragged the dead security guard out of the doorway, and the store was filled with bright rays from a searchlight. "This does not look good, sir," one Loompa said quietly, addressing the team leader. "Shut up. I'm trying to think." "Yeah, and we could all be killed or taken prisoner in the meanwhile!" the former commando leader snapped angrily. "Well, what would you have us do?" the other Oompa challenged. The commando paused for a moment, then replied, "Find a grate: sewer, ventilation, whatever. We could escape through there." Though the team leader grudgingly agreed, the others nodded in compliance, taking the suggestion as a direct order. They flitted through the room, using shelves, desks, anything for cover. "Commander!" one Loompa said excitedly. "Here's a grate. Sewer, I'd expect." "Well, don't just stand there! Break through!" One Oompa nodded, and pulled out a bottle from his pack. He sprayed a foul liquid onto the grate, then replaced the container in one swift movement. The metal sizzled, melted through by the super concentrated acid. "Go, go, go!" the leader urged, keeping his eye on the approaching detectives. Each Oompa obeyed, jumping feet first into the gaping black hole, then the leader himself followed.

"Chief, look at this!" an officer exclaimed as he directed the police chief over to the hole. "Hmm." The chief paused to ponder as he examined the opening using a flashlight. He ran his hand over the metal knobules that lined the edges of the hole. "It looks as if the grate was melted. But how?" "Forensics will figure that out, sir." The officer assured. "But even still, I don't think the perpetrator could have escaped that way," The chief replied, "The hole is clearly too small." "Unless we were dealing with a midget murderer," the officer kidded, chuckling despite the gravity of the situation. From three buildings away, the WSP team listened through an enhanced audio relay. The team leader pressed the detonator key. "Midget this."

The explosion caused a massive shockwave that could be felt a mile away. The bomb had instantly ignited the gas pipe, shooting a fireball high into the sky. Flames engulfed the adjacent buildings as ash and debris rained down. The WSP team watched silently as fire trucks and ambulances arrived at the scene of impending chaos. There would be no one to save. Another blow had been struck to Chadworth as revenge for insulting the Fuhrer. It was a small hit, but a punishment nonetheless. Chadworth would continue to pay for his insolence, until he paid with his life. "Returning to base," the leader called out, signaling to the others with the wave of his hand. The team gathered at the dark end of the rooftop. Using an old drainpipe, each operative shimmied down until the whole team was assembled on the ground. Melding with the shadows, they ran in a staggered formation toward the rendezvous point near the docks, where they would be transported home via submarine.

Wonka watched the explosion and utter chaos that followed through the video relay sent by the WSP. He felt no remorse over the loss of life from the destruction. That particular store had symbolized the life of the one man Wonka had hated. Now his monument was destroyed. Oh, there would be consequences, Wonka knew. JR Chadworth would be even more determined to find him now, and would endeavor to further fortify his property. But nothing Chadworth could dream up would be able to stop Wonka.


	4. CH 4: Vincent

**Sum:** Introduction of a new character. He is mentioned a couple of times before, but this part is mainly about him.

**A/N** Reviews help us improve the writing skills. Help this story improve by leaving comments or critiques.

* * *

><p>CH4: Vincent<p>

Cold, iron bars prevented any escape. Dank smells filled the stale air, and the demented laughter and groans of the condemned prevented sleep. But one man found solace among the torment. Though he was imprisoned, he looked forward to the day of freedom. His name: Vincent Anthony Chadworth. It had been ten years since he was taken to prison, and it would be many more years until his release. But he could be patient…

He was not here for any crime he had committed; he had been framed, falsely accused. But no one had believed him. Everyone had thought he was his father's murderer. All because of a whittling knife. Someone had gotten hold of Vincent's carving knife and had impaled his father, leaving the blade embedded in his chest for the police to find. His two brothers had refused to believe that Vincent had committed such a heinous crime, but even an autopsy of their father seemed to verify the theory that Vincent was guilty. So he, at the age of twenty-one, was taken away to the dark side of life. At first, he was afraid. He was young and inexperienced in the ways of true criminals. He didn't know anything about living in such a rough environment. But he learned. The first time he got into a fight, he learned the most important lesson of life: survival must be had at any cost. He had been placed in a cell with a large, burly man who had a knack for beating weaker people. The attack came suddenly, and Vincent didn't know how to defend himself. He feebly attempted to block the hits as the blows rained mercilessly down. When the punches ceased for a moment, he saw his chance. He instinctively lashed out, clawing at the man's eyes. The man roared in pain, clutching his face, and Vincent fell back, watching in silent amazement as his opponent stumbled helplessly around the room, blood dripping down his face. The man was taken out to be treated, while Vincent was put into isolation for bad behavior. But during his time alone, Vincent reflected on the possibilities this new life could have for him.

Since that first fight, Vincent had grown stronger and craftier. He had learned the fine points of fighting from observing others, and from having fights of his own. He had discovered who to avoid, who to please, and who to ignore completely. He was no longer the innocent young man who had first been thrown into prison; he now had the calloused heart and dark mind of a criminal. Yes, he missed his brothers, and hated his father's killer, but now he wanted revenge, even if it did mean killing in cold blood. But in order to avenge the wrongs done to him, he would have to get out of prison. One dark night, the time came…

"Come on." An ornery guard roughly nudged Vincent, waking him. Vincent stirred, then sat up to glare at the man who had the nerve to wake him. "What?" "Prison transfer, or did you forget?" "It's the middle of the night, sir…" Vincent protested. "It won't be by the time you get to your new destination." The guard replied impatiently. "Fine." Vincent sleepily followed the man out of the cell. He was handcuffed and escorted by two more guards, these even more irate than the first one. He was herded into a van, where several other prisoners sat, looking tired and hopeless. But as grogginess left Vincent, he became alert, waiting for any chance to claim freedom.

The van bounced and shook, causing the others to stir in their sleep. Vincent listened to the sound of their breathing and the noise of the engine's steady hum. He heard the sound of tires on gravel, and the van started to shake. Vincent assumed they had turned onto a dirt road. The shaking continued until the vehicle came to a complete stop, the sound of the engine dying out. Vincent heard a blend of sounds, some he had not heard since he was a small child. Among them were the crashing of waves and screech of seagulls. They had been transported to the edge of the ocean.

The guards opened the doors and woke the sleeping prisoners, dragging them to their feet. Vincent kept looking around in amazement. The roaring of the ocean and the wind on his face were too wonderful to ignore, but his momentary joy was impeded by the guards, who led the prisoners down a dock and to a large cargo ship, bound for some Pacific island. Once aboard, the prisoners were thrown into a cell, and their cuffs removed. The guards left, and the now awake prisoners stared dumbly at their new surroundings.

The ship set sail as dawn approached, and Vincent realized with a sinking feeling that he would never see his brothers again. Anguished, he banged his head on the bars of the cell, causing the others to look at him and snicker. But he didn't care. No matter how strong he was, or how smart he could be, there was no way through iron bars and across an ocean. His hope was destroyed. Sad and defeated, he fell into a fitful sleep.

Vincent was jarred awake by the clashing of thunder. The steady patter of rain on the roof of the cabin reported a sea storm, and the boat rolled back and forth atop mountainous waves. The passengers and crewmen alike were tossed like rag dolls across the deck, striking fear into everyone, both prisoner and free. As the crew frantically struggled to regain control of the ship's course, the prisoners watched helplessly. The first mate suddenly rushed into the holding area and struggled to unlock the cell. All the prisoners, including Vincent, leapt to their feet. "Get out! We're out of control! Save yourselves, if you can!" the man cried, rushing out as soon as the cell door swung open. Quickly, all the prisoners darted out of the cell, onto the deck, and into the pounding rain. The ship lurched, as if hit by something, and a loud groan reverberated through the air. "We've struck a reef!" a crewman wailed. "Abandon ship!" Vincent struggled to follow the others, but he slipped on the wet deck and fell spread-eagled on the ground. He watched in despair as the others commandeered a life boat, leaving him behind. "What's the use?" he cried to the falling rain, "I was bound to die eventually!" The only answer was the crashing of waves and the crackle of lightning.

The coarse sand of the beach made the going difficult, but the two tan-skinned children managed to climb to the top of a dune. Now at its crest, they had a full view of the shore. From their perch, they spotted a strange object near the water, most likely debris from a stranded ship. Eager to investigate, they slid down, sending a cascade of sand raining down in their wake. They ran quickly to the water's edge, not knowing what to expect. Upon arriving, they froze, momentarily unable to comprehend what they were seeing. Lying face up on the sand, his feet still in the water and his eyes closed, was a man. He was breathing.

Vincent awoke, tasting salt and feeling sore. He opened his eyes, and gasped. He was alive, and in strange surroundings. The native people, alerted by the two children had taken him into a home and had cared for him; bandaging his wounds and helping him recover from being carried through the ocean. He had lain unconscious for three days, and the people were afraid he wouldn't wake up, but on the fourth day, he regained consciousness, wondering where he was and how he had gotten there. He was in bed that felt of leather, and the walls of the room looked like bamboo. Some light came in through the thatched roof, splashing the wooden floor with speckles of light. Vincent realized he had been undressed, and felt bandages wrapped around his body. He didn't dare remove the blanket covering him for fear of how battered his body would appear.

Someone approached from outside, and Vincent turned his head, gasping in pain because of a wrenched neck muscle. A woman stood in the entryway, looking at him in a concerned, motherly way. She spoke, but Vincent didn't understand what she said; it was in a foreign language that he had never heard before. He tried to speak to her, "Hello. My name is Vincent. Where is this place?" But the woman cocked her head, stared at him for a moment, then left. Vincent lay down again, disappointed. He was stuck in a place where he wouldn't be able to understand anyone, and he didn't even know where this place was!

The woman appeared again, this time followed by a man. "Hello, there." He said to Vincent, whose eyes widened in surprise. "Um, hello, sir. You speak English?" "Well, of course I do. How else would you be able to understand me?" the man asked, smiling. "Where am I? How did I get here? Who are you?" Vincent asked, desperate for answers. "Calm down; your questions will be answered. I'm not going anywhere. "The man assured. "Firstly, I would like to welcome you to Malaysia." "Malaysia?" Vincent cried incredulously. "Yes, Malaysia. My homeland." "But, you speak English…" Vincent trailed off. "My name is Aban Corson. I was a student in the United States for some time. I returned here to practice medicine." "So… you're the one who restored me to health?" Vincent asked. "Yes. You were lucky the people found you on the shore when they did. You were near death and needed immediate treatment. You were unconscious for three days." Vincent remained silent; amazed that he had survived the storm. "Were any others found?" he asked quietly. "No, you were the only one." Vincent wondered whether or not it was a good thing he had been the only one to end up here. "So, what is your name?" the doctor asked. Vincent turned, despite the pain, and looked directly at the man before answering, "My name is Vincent… Vincent Chadworth."

Days passed, and Vincent's wounds healed steadily under the care of Doctor Corson. With his help, Vincent started to learn the Malaysian language, and became friends with most of the people in the village. Though he was affable and well behaved, the coldness and obscurity he had lived with for so long had merely been pushed aside, lying dormant for another time…

Restored to complete health, Vincent felt more alive than he had in the years past. He lived now like a native, burned tan by the sun, his hair long and brown, his mustache and beard unshaven. He learned new skills from the men, mainly hunting techniques with spears and bowie knives. He was taught how to meld with shadows, how to sense his prey, and how to track animals in the night. For nearly two years, Vincent lived contentedly in this new environment, but the winds of change arrived with a small airplane…

The noisy craft touched down on a flat stretch of land, throwing up sand and grass pollen. Vincent, along with several other people, ran towards it, wondering what it could mean. The buzz of the engine died down to silence, and two people exited the vehicle, stepping quickly down the small stairs. The present group swarmed them, asking what was happening. "We need Doctor Corson," the men said. Vincent understood, thought the men spoke in Malaysian. "Aban!" Vincent called to his friend, who stepped out from the throng. "Yes?" "These men came for you." The two men approached them. "We need you, Doctor. On the mainland, there is sickness going around, probably brought by the Americans. We thought you could stop it." "I can make no promises, but I can try," Aban replied. "When must we leave?" "Right now, if possible." Aban glanced over to Vincent, who looked questioningly back. "Can my friend come as well? I would like to show him the mainland…" "Yes, yes," the men said impatiently. "Come, now, we must hurry!" Aban beckoned to Vincent, who nervously followed him into the plane. "What about our things?" he asked. "We could always get more," Aban replied distractedly. Once everyone was seated, the plane lifted off, propelling the people toward the main island of Malaysia.

The plane began its landing pattern, and Vincent only stared in awe out the window. "Welcome to Borneo, my friend." Aban said, patting him on the back. Below was a large city; Vincent could see houses, markets, and people. It had been quite a while since he had been in a place so greatly populated; he absently wondered what he would do while Aban did his job and diagnosed the epidemic.

"Here, take this," Aban told Vincent, as he handed him a pouch of money. "Go buy some souvenirs from the market, and some lunch as well." "What about you?" Vincent asked anxiously. "Do you honestly think these people would let the most learned doctor on the island go hungry?" Aban asked. Vincent laughed. "I guess not." "Now go. I will see you soon." Vincent bid his friend goodbye and walked into the bustling crowds of Borneo.

Vincent browsed the wares of each stall, passing the time by examining the amusing objects. On several occasions, he bought some items, such as an imported bowie knife, a kerchief, and a leather knapsack. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, he stopped for lunch, purchasing some fruit from a stall. Storing the leftover in his knapsack, he continued his tour, wondering how Aban was faring.

He wandered down to the docks, gazing in astonishment at the huge ships that came to moor in the harbor. His attention was drawn to one particular ship- an enormous, black freighter that had a large smokestack and a familiar insignia painted upon it. Squinting, he could just make out the words painted on her side… _SS Amber Sky, _Chadworth Industries. Could it really be? Did his brothers own this ship? A loud shout startled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see two men running toward him, batons in their hands. _These_ _must be the police, and they must think I'm a drunk or homeless man_… he thought as he ran down the dock. The men followed in hot pursuit, closing the distance between themselves and their target. One baton connected with Vincent's shoulder, and he spun, baring his knife. The police man's momentum carried him straight into the blade; it connected with his flesh, and he gave a yell of pain. This caused the other officer to stop and look incredulously at his wounded partner. Vincent retrieved his knife and shoved the other man off the side of the dock in one swift move. Sprinting away from the trouble, he stowed away on a commuter boat marked with Chadworth's symbol.

Aboard the freighter, he hid in the expansive engine room, hoping the large fuel tanks would be enough to cover him. He had no idea where this ship was headed, only that it was a possible connection to his brothers. He was sorry to have left without saying goodbye- he hoped that Aban would understand. Rationing his food, he waited. Two days passed, and the ship arrived. Vincent had no idea where they had stopped, but he was desperate to get on land. He managed to get out of the ship unseen, and was relieved when he stepped on solid ground once more. He was about to step onto the main dock, when he was stopped by a suspicious officer. "Passport, please." Vincent patted his pocket, then looked apprehensively at the man. "I have none." The officer smirked. "Then come with me. You are under arrest for commuting without identification."

Vincent sat in the police office for the second time in his miserable life. He was waiting for his turn to explain his case. "Is there anyone you would like to call?" an officer asked him. "Yes, but I don't know the number…" Vincent replied. "Here. The considerate man handed him a phone book. Opening it, Vincent turned the pages until he found the name he was looking for. Dialing, he waited a moment for the call to transfer. "Hello, Chadworth Industries." A secretary said. "Yes, I would like to speak to JR Chadworth." "May I ask who is calling?" Vincent paused, unsure of what to say. "Tell him it's his brother, Vincent." "Alright. Hold, please." Vincent waited anxiously. "Hello? Who is this, who has the nerve to say he's my dead younger brother…" "JR? it's me, Vincent!" "Yeah, right." Vincent was stung by the sarcasm, but he continued. "No, really, it is. You see, I had a prison transfer…" "Goodbye." "No, please!" Vincent cried desperately, on the verge of tears. "Ever since our dad died…" "Our _dad_?" JR repeated, intrigued. "Yes, Dad. Don't you remember? Everyone thought I killed him, but I didn't. I swear I didn't." "Vincent?" JR asked tentatively. The line crackled for a moment before JR spoke again. "It really is you! Where are you?" "I'm in an English police station," Vincent said relieved, glad to have gotten through to his brother. "Really? Whatever for?" "Immigration without a passport." "Well, I'll just come and bail you out." "Okay," Vincent said, gratefully. "I'll hold you to it. See you later, then." "Bye."

Vincent Chadworth, freshly shaven and smartly dressed, boarded the helicopter with his brother, JR Chadworth. "There's so much we have to catch up on!" JR exclaimed as the chopper lifted off. "Yeah," Vincent agreed. "By the way, how's Charles these days?" JR turned serious. "Vincent, Charles is dead." "Dead?" Vincent asked, disbelievingly. "How?" "Killed by a maniac. Killed by Wonka." "Wonka…" Vincent echoed, vaguely remembering the teenager he had once called his friend. But Wonka is dead now." JR said, calmly. "Really?" "Yes, killed by a mechanical scourge." "Sounds lovely." Vincent commented acerbically. "Hmm. So how have you been?" JR asked. Vincent paused, then replied, "Washed up, actually."

The reports that week were almost enough to make JR roar in frustration. First the _Amber Sky_ was completely destroyed, then the original Chadworth Candy Store had taken a hit. Though it seemed impossible, Wonka was alive. JR told his brother all about the trouble. Vincent appeared to ponder as he fiddled with his bowie knife. "Maybe you should have guards." "But I do have guards." JR protested. "No, real ones. Ones like we had in Malaysia. Ones who could feel their opponents, not just see or hear them." "And where would we get such guards?" JR asked scathingly. Vincent answered quietly, "I have a few connections…"

They had come: on boats, on planes, by land, by sea. A host of the best Malaysian fighters Vincent had met and befriended. He had contacted them by phone and by telegraph, promising payment and board if they accepted the job of guarding one of several Chadworth locations. All the men agreed, pledging allegiance to Chadworth, even to the death. Whatever Wonka threw at the Chadworths now would not take them by surprise.


	5. CH 5: Sweet Revenge

**Sum: **Continuation of the war for candy dominance...

**A/N** Reviews help us improve the writing skills. Help this story improve by leaving comments or critiques.

* * *

><p><span>CH5: Sweet Revenge<span>

Tiny digits typed a message into a minute keypad: "Requesting permission to infiltrate." A moment passed as the message was transmitted, and the reply was received and decoded: "Permission granted." Having been given the "go" signal, the more bulky communication equipment was stowed in a crevice, momentarily sheltered from passerby and the effects of the weather. It would be retrieved upon the successful completion of this mission. Dark forms materialized from the shadows, creeping silently toward the imposing black gate. The four small figures skillfully scaled the cold, steel bars, using the aid of rope and grappling hooks to carefully avoid the sharp razor-wire at the top. Dropping softly to the well-groomed lawn on the other side, the figures hurriedly scampered in the direction of a large, white building with light emanating from one of the upper windows. Heading for a tall maple tree that grew beside the mansion, they quickly scrambled up, until reaching a branch that allowed them to see into the brightened window. The light shone on them – a team of fuzzy, trained squirrels. One carried a small pack, one had a camera strapped on its head; the others carried the rope and grappling hooks used to climb the gate. Peering into the window they watched, unnoticed, as JR Chadworth held a meeting in his office with the heads of each department of his company.

Wonka watched too, through the feed sent by the camera on the lead squirrel's head. He spoke into the intercom. "Increase audio." Several Oompa-loompas in a control room increased the sensitivity of the microphone transmitter in the squirrel's pack. Now Wonka could clearly hear Chadworth's voice, sounding tinny through the transmitter. "Wonka is alive," he was telling the board, anger filling his voice. "Alive?" a scientist asked, clearly dubious. "But the visual feed sent by p0 tells us that the factory is completely destroyed, and that there are no living things left in that compound." Chadworth slammed a paper down in front of the scientist, who shivered in alarm, but began to skim through the document. "Does this look like 'no living thing' to you?" The shaken scientist saw the evidence of Wonka's existence, and the color drained from his face. "But…that's not possible!" he stammered, unwilling to believe. "The nanites should have killed everyone in that complex, including Wonka!" "Well, they didn't," Chadworth snarled. "The nanites were our greatest weapon. Now Wonka is hunkered down somewhere, making his candy and laughing at us." Hearing this, Wonka laughed evilly out of spite for the man, causing the Oompa-loompas in the chamber glance at each other nervously. "We must locate him," Chadworth continued, "and destroy him once and for all." Chadworth paused, and by chance glanced out the window. His eyes narrowed when he saw the four squirrels, who, knowing their mission was now compromised, scampered higher up the tree. After a beat, Chadworth grabbed a radio from his pocket, contacting the security team. He spoke lowly, not wanting the board to hear his orders. "Code yellow, security breach. Let no…living thing escape." "Sir?" the head of finances said, looking oddly at his boss. Chadworth flashed a businesslike smile in their direction. "Meeting dismissed. I have some…rodent problems to attend to."

The four squirrels had reached the top of the tree, and were now looking down over the moonlit landscape. They noticed the ferocious guard dogs that paced along the ground searching for the intruders, and shivered inwardly. What should we do now? The gaze of one seemed to ask the others. The leader sat motionlessly. Its posture told the others to wait.

Wonka was still monitoring the feed from the camera, and had seen Chadworth's gaze lock on the furry infiltrators. He unconsciously held his breath as he imagined what was going to happen. The screen showed moonlit leaves and branches pass by as the squirrels climbed higher into the tree. The scenery stopped changing when the squirrels reached the highest branches. As they waited, Wonka watched with interest to see what the fuzzy agents would do next. Suddenly, the picture quivered, as if the camera was being shaken violently, and an ear-piercing squeal broke the stillness. The last information sent by the camera and audio transmitters was an image of large, glistening talons and the hooting of owls. A few seconds passed, and Wonka realized that his fluffy spies had become bird feed. He felt a pang of sadness tighten his chest, but he pushed it away. No time for grieving during business hours. Which was, for Wonka, every conscious moment.

The loud whirring and hissing of machines filled the room, but the Oompa-loompas who monitored them were used to it. The head inspector stood before a Plexiglas window, where one could view the candy-making process. Large pans moved along a conveyor belt. They were filled with a translucent orange or green liquid, then moved forward to be placed in a pressure chamber, where the liquid was compressed and hardened, creating one-foot tall gummy bears. But these were like no ordinary gummy bears…these ones were alive, created from the synthesis of alien matter, sugar, and collagen-silicon. After hardening sufficiently, the gummy bears extricated themselves from the pans and stood. Pressing a button, the head inspector watched carefully as the bears were moved out of the pressure chamber and sprayed with a mist of Subservience Serum, ensuring their unwavering fidelity to Wonka. The liquid collected in beads on their membranes, and was then absorbed by their gelatinous surfaces. Nodding in satisfaction, the inspector spoke into the intercom. "The first batch is ready for your observation, Fuhrer." "Affirmative. I shall be down in the viewing room momentarily."

Wonka strode down the corridor, licking his lips with anticipation. Soon, very soon victory would be within his grasp, along with all the candy markets of the entire world. Chadworth, the bland fool who imagined himself a genius, would be crushed once and for all. The Chadworth line would be brought to an end. Chadworth Sr. was long dead, Charles had been reduced to giblets, and Vincent was hidden away in the bowels of an English prison. Once JR had been terminated, Wonka's final vengeance would be completed. Who would be scorned then, when the only thing that would proudly bear the Chadworth name was a collection of tombstones?

The door to the viewing room hissed open, and Wonka entered. The technicians stood and saluted, but Wonka ignored them, crossing directly to the sheet of thick plate glass on the other side. The head inspector bowed respectfully. "The culmination of our efforts, sir, and your genius." Wonka allowed his gaze to wander over the rows of assembled gummy bears, searching for any flaw in their physical composition. They appeared perfect, good enough to eat, though even Willy himself had no idea of what would happen should one of them be accidentally consumed. Wonka glanced over at the inspector. "Have they been given a full dose of serum?" "Yes, my Fuhrer, according to your directions." "Depolarize the glass. Allow them to see us." "Yes, my Fuhrer." The inspector nodded, and a technician at the adjacent console pushed a button. Though nothing appeared to change within the glass, it was obvious when the gummies saw Wonka. Instantly, a collective jolt passed through the assembled mass, and Wonka's tiny soldiers snapped straighter in the presence of their leader. Wonka grinned and nodded his approval. "Make some more. I need enough to fill a cruise missile." "Missile, sir?" "Yes, a delivery to an old friend. Chadworth's family got me started in the candy business, after all, so it's only fair that I give him a first free sample of my latest product lines. I started with Cannibal Crunchies, now I intend to give him a taste of my bears. Though I feel that a few more modifications are in order before they are entirely field-ready…I'll compile a list of what exactly I have in mind." The head inspector grinned mischievously. "We will begin work immediately."

The last three weeks had been a sort of private hell for JR Chadworth. He should have felt safe with the presence of Vincent and his men, but he didn't. Just knowing that Wonka was still alive infuriated him…and filled him with fear. Though the neighborhood birds of prey had eliminated Wonka's furry spies, Chadworth had suffered much greater loss. One of his ships had been destroyed, followed by the decimation of his father's old candy store, the place where it all had started…what was next? Wonka was clearly building up to something.

At that moment JR Chadworth's reverie was interrupted as the door to his temporary "office" opened, admitting entrance to Vincent and four of the elite fighters which had now been assigned to JR's protection. "Everything is secure," Vincent reported, "even Wonka will have a hard time slipping us a surprise in here." He turned to the window, looking out over the grounds of the manor house that was to serve as the headquarters of Chadworth Industries for the time being. "I still don't like it," Vincent said, turning back to his brother. "I don't care to hide from my enemy and hope he doesn't cut my throat in my sleep."

JR slammed his fist down on the oak desk with a bang. "Do you imagine that I like it? Hiding out here in the country like some sort of fugitive? But we're not the only ones…the same precautions have been taken with the entire board. Everyone vital to the company…indeed most everyone who works for the company has been transferred to safer locations. If it weren't for automation, we'd be completely shut down!"

Vincent gazed steadily at him. "How certain are you he'll go after the factory?"  
>JR shot him an angry look. "The man is determined to ruin me. What better way than to shut down the heart of my operations. Besides, it will make for the ultimate payback. I destroy his factory, he destroys mine. I just hope the measures I left will be sufficient. I'd like to see him come calling now…"<p>

"The office is here, correct?" Wonka asked, pointing to a section of the rough holographic model that had been generated of Chadworth's corporate headquarters. He was again reviewing the data recording that his spies had sent in the final moments of their lives, making absolutely certain that all of their mission recorders coincided before he used the information they had gained. He had felt a certain guilt sending them; squirrels were so cute, after all. It was only too easy to make another one in the cloning vats, but still…their little bushy tails, and the way their tiny noses wiggled when they smelled something… "Uh, are you all right, sir?" Wonka looked over at the Oompa-loompa officer who was manipulating the holographic map, suddenly aware that he had been sniffling loudly. "Yes, I'm fine," he said airily, blinking back an errant tear. _Poor little squirrels. _"You don't look fine," the Loompa said. Wonka glared. "It's just allergies!" "Sir, how can you have allergies? We're in Antarctica, for crying out loud…there's not a plant for a thousand miles." "IF I SAID IT WAS ALLERGIES; IT WAS ALLERGIES!" Wonka bellowed, pulling out his pistol and blowing off the Loompa's head with an explosive jawbreaker. "ANYONE ELSE WANT TO MAKE ANY SMART REMARKS?" Apparently no one else did, and Wonka turned back to the map. He cleared his throat, and instantly three more Oompa-loompas appeared at his side. "You, take over on the holopanel," Wonka said, pointing to the leader. "You two, clean up that mess." "Yes, my Fuhrer." Wonka pulled out a bright purple hankie and blew his nose, with a sound rather like an elephant breaking wind. "Now where were we?" "You had just mentioned Chadworth's office, my Fuhrer." "Yes, office. Are we positive that it is this room?" "Yes, sir." "Very well. Upload the building schematic to the troops via neural interface, then prepare them for transport." "Sir!"

The _W-Sub_ surfaced a few miles off the coast, rising out of the ocean depths to greet a calm night with a light fog lingering over the gentle swells. The peace, however, was broken within the space of seconds. A final transmission was made between Wonka's new factory and the submarine, then the orders were given. Three massive hatches along the sub's back opened, and huge billows of flame and smoke blasted out into the still night, shattering the silence with a deafening roar. A moment later, clamps were disengaged and, freed of their prison, a trio of ballistic missiles shot straight up from the sub. They would climb to the very fringes of the atmosphere before coming back down; though their target was not that far distant and the dramatic arc made for a much longer flight, it also ensured that the projectiles would not be intercepted before they reached their target.

The proud Chadworth Industries complex stood still and quiet, or as tranquil and silent as ever it was these days. Exterior floodlights covered the gates, and security guards walked the perimeter fence continually. But these were no standard rent-a-cops, and, inside the buildings of the complex, an entire company of them waited. In the event that one of the perimeter teams should either report a problem or else fail to acknowledge the hourly check-in, several hundred mercenaries stood by to deal with any threat. They were now full-time staff, clocking even more hours than the employees, who had seldom been seen for the best week. Chadworth had transferred virtually his entire operation to the control of machines, and he himself was rumored to be ill and away for his health. At least that was what the papers said…

Two men stood outside the booth at Chadworth Industries' north gate, discussing the rugby finals and smoking cigarettes. One of them glanced up at the sky briefly, a random coincidence…and something caught his attention. He jabbed his comrade and pointed. "Steve, what is that?" Steve tilted his head back. "That…is the constellation Leo." "I wasn't talking about that…I meant that." A series of three small lights moved across the heavens in rough formation, and glowing brighter as the two men watched. "I don't know. Probably a helicopter or something." "Yeah, but it looks like it's coming right toward…" the rest of Barrett's sentence was drowned out by the deafening roar of a sonic boom, the sound of approaching missiles splitting the air. Steve and Barrett were knocked to the ground as the three warheads slammed into the blacktop in the center of Chadworth's main parking lot, throwing up a huge cloud of pulverized asphalt with a deafening sound. Steve stumbled to his feet, touching his fingers to his ears to see if…it felt as if his eardrums had come very near to breaking…but there were more pressing matters. He radio chirped. "What's going on out there?" He dimly recognized the voice of Stein, the officer in charge. "Don't know, sir. But you'd better get someone out here quick! Some sort of missiles…" "Keep it together. We're on our way." Steve and his friend, both shaken but unharmed, racked their submachine guns and cautiously advanced toward the nearest projectile.

The missile was strange, made of some odd black-blue substance that appeared both metallic and crystalline, almost like obsidian. It was amazing the thing hadn't been completely vaporized by the impact…it stood like a tower out of the blacktop, its nose and lower third completely buried beneath the skin of the parking lot. And there were two more of them; having hit in a rough triangle, two more of the peculiar things stood off to the right. The two men stopped. "What do you think it is, Steve?" Steve shook his head and moved closer to the projectile. "I don't know if I'd do that, man…what if you set it off?" "If it didn't go off when it hit, I'm not likely to detonate it. Even assuming it's a proximity weapon, something this big isn't going to be tripped by the presence of one man. It would be designed to take out an entire squad when they came to investigate it." "Think I should pass that along to Captain Stein?" "He knows what he's doing." Steve moved right up to the panels of blackened metal which composed the missile's curving flank; the projectile was charred from reentry, but remarkably pristine otherwise. A strange sort of detail marked the side, a circular lock of some sort…just as Steve put a hand forward to examine the device, the circular plate of metal spun, unscrewing itself from the side of the missile case. Two other such locking plugs did the same at different points around the projectile's circumference, and an instant later they fell to the asphalt with a clang. The entire missile split open, three wide panels swinging upward. Steve stepped back, aware of the rumble of engines as his fellow soldiers approached; a dozen Humvees swung into a circular formation around the three projectiles, dozens more infantry streaming behind them. The mercenaries assumed a perimeter outside the likely range of any trip sensors, training their guns on the objects, the other two of which had begun to open. Steve recognized the Captain seated atop the nearest Humvee, manning the heavy fifty-caliber mounted on the roof. The Captain waved to him, the closest man to the unknown missiles. "Can you make out what's inside, soldier?" Steve approached the weapon slowly, trying to keep his mind from wandering…he remembered well what had happened the last time men of his organization had tangled with Wonka and, though he wanted retribution for their deaths, he still wondered whether or not it had been a good idea to volunteer as Chadworth's cannon fodder…Steve raised his gun and clicked on the light bolted under the stubby barrel, shedding sudden light on the strange multi-colored substance within the missile's case. A sort of cage had been constructed inside, a transparent tube reinforced by steel and filled with a kaleidoscopic array of color….was it gelatin…no, it looked like…Steve shouted to his commander, bewildered. "What the…it looks like giant gummy bears!"

Life has a peculiar way about it sometimes. At the exact moment that Steve mentioned "gummy bears," hundreds of tiny, cold intelligences came to life. There was a whirr of machinery from within the projectile, and before Steve could utter another word, the internal casing shattered, releasing a flood of gelatinous creatures. The gummies poured over Steve like a wave, smashing him to the ground; there were so many that the flood even knocked over Barrett, standing five or six feet back. Cries of alarm sounded from around the other two projectiles as they too broke open and the mercenaries backed away from them in alarm…yet nothing happened. An uneasy stillness followed. Coughing, Steve surfaced from beneath the flood of candy. Curiously, he turned and picked up one of the bears…just like an ordinary piece of candy, albeit huge. Then chaos erupted.

A horrible choking sound came from behind, and Steve turned to see Barrett disappearing under a carpet of living gummy bears. He shouted in alarm, drawing the floodlights of the nearest Humvee as he fired his weapon into the mass surrounding the unfortunate soldier…at that moment, the gummies beneath his feet shifted treacherously, throwing him to the ground, and Steve disappeared with a scream. The mercs opened fire, throwing sprays of gummies skyward…but they hadn't counted on the toughness of the tiny creatures. Though thrown about, the gummies were all but unharmed…and landed with a vengeance. The machinegun bullets tossed them into the air, and the gummies came down on the soldiers, issuing tiny vicious laughs as they extended minute barbs from their forearms and began jabbing brutally, secreting their potent neurotoxin into the soldiers' bloodstreams. Men screamed in pain and grabbed for their faces and necks; others tried frantically to brush the sinister candy shapes out of their clothing as the bears scurried up under their armored vests. Within seconds the entire circle of mercenaries was reduced to chaos, men running in all directions as they tried in panic to divest themselves of their tiny assailants…the bulk of whom were now moving. A living carpet swarmed over two of the Humvees, muffling the cries and gunfire from inside…Captain Stein was still firing when a large pack of bears, a peculiar yellow-orange in color, split off from the nearest mass and ran under the vehicle adjacent the captain's own. They sat on the pavement for a second, a benign phalanx…then suddenly they glowed brilliant orange as the chemicals within their tiny bodies ignited…as one, the orange bears detonated in a spectacular fireball, sending the Humvee skyward and flinging burning defoliant in all directions. Stein screamed orders to his driver as another nasty group of miniature suicide bombers made for his own vehicles; the Humvee ground into reverse as Stein fired…the tiny creatures were incredibly quick for their size, but not nearly quick enough…his bullets streaked into the mass of another suicide phalanx, and it exploded harmlessly.

Shouting into his headset, the Captain struggled to maintain control of his forces. Half of the mercenaries lay dead across the parking lot amidst their Humvees, some of the vehicles left with dead crews, while others had been reduced to smoldering wreckage. The survivors retreated toward the main administration building, firing as they went; bullets and grenades, however, only seemed to spread the infernal bears over a wider area. Stein opened a communication channel to Daniels, commander of the factory's own security forces, all of whom were still within the buildings, fortifying the most important areas. Daniels was understandably concerned. "What's going on? We've been monitoring…" "What sort of weapons do you have around this facility? And I don't mean regular firearms…do you have anything chemical based?" Daniels chuckled nastily. "I'll send the flamer teams to suit up."

The surviving Humvees formed a cordon around the doors to Administration as Stein and the rest of his men fanned out to cover. The bears, it seemed, were not following: Stein raised a night vision scope to his eye and still saw the living tide of candy sweeping in strange circular patterns around the projectiles that had delivered it. Wait…something was slowly appearing…Stein's blood ran cold. A strange mass was appearing in the center of the three missiles, something rising from the ground…Stein adjusted the magnification on his scope to see better...but he no longer needed it. One of the other soldiers gave a shout of alarm as a towering organic structure reared…composed entirely of gummy bears. With a deafening sound, the roar of thousands of tiny voices, the mass roiled towards the defending troops. It was almost like an amoeba, only grown to fantastic proportions…and Stein had a sinking feeling that even flamethrowers might not be enough. There hadn't been time before, but now… "Get those launchers out, boys!" the Captain shouted, and almost instantly crates of rocket-propelled grenade launchers appeared from the backs of the vehicles. Men seized them and rushed forward, dropping into a line as they took aim. Exhaust plumed, and a half-dozen high-explosive missiles shrieked into the advancing monstrosity. A shrill sort of scream emanated from the gummy creature, a vast chorus of separate voices; the monster reeled backward and gouts of melted gelatin glop burst from it. But it was not so wounded…a huge tentacle the thickness of a tree trunk burst from one side of the monstrosity, and it swept the RPG gunners and three of the Humvees aside in an instant, smashing men and machines into oblivion against the side of the adjacent building. The creature seemed unaffected as clip after clip of assault rifle fire tore into it; though gummies were knocked free of the titanic assemblage, they quickly scurried back over and reattached themselves. The monster had manifested an array of giant pseudopodia, clambering its way end-over-end toward its enemy with terrifying speed.

Stein and the surviving troops ducked for cover as another tentacle appeared and crushed the final two Humvees into flattened hulks; with no other option, they scattered as the monstrosity rampaged up to the doors of Administration, now unchallenged. The creature tore into the building like cardboard, ignoring the tiny bullets which still peppered it; screams sounded from inside as the gummy beast ripped its way through the ground floor of the Administration building. The monster burst free on the other side, unfortunate soldiers grasped in its smaller tentacles; having torn out the entire structure of the building on its way through, a final push was all it took. As the monster pulled itself clear, the huge Administration tower shattered and collapsed in on itself.

The defenders' lot did not improve as the battle wore on; after taking down the building that once housed the office of the hated Chadworth, the monster advanced on the rest of his factory. The main production building made for an easy targets; the monster peeled back the corner of the roof and whipped a tentacle out over the structure's interior, showering the men inside with a host of toxic bears. The life's work of JR Chadworth was demolished bit by bit; the factory's flamethrower teams managed to ward the creature away from the research labs for a while, but the monster finally retaliated by bringing one of the buildings down on top of them. Even the underground areas were not safe, being much smaller than those of Wonka's old factory; the monster simply poured exploding gummy bears down the ventilation shafts, and sections of the ground bulged and erupted into the air as the lethal saboteurs reached their objectives. Sirens screamed in the distance, drawing nearer in a hurry, as Wonka's behemoth returned to the vicinity of its carrier missiles and again disintegrated into a vast body of individual bears. As the first emergency vehicles drew into sight along the Chadworth Industries access road, the gummy bears packed themselves into the space between the missiles and raised their miniscule arms in commemoration of their leader. Then the missiles' final programming routine was activated, and a drenching spray of supersaturated saltwater was directed across the mass of gummy bears. The excess sodium penetrated the membranes of their gummy flesh, breaking them down, and Wonka's vast and deadly army melted away in a flood of colorful, sugary sludge. Baffled, the police and civil authorities would eventually place the destruction of the Chadworth Industries complex in the broad realm of "industrial accidents," a genre of catastrophe that had continued to get more and more interesting lately.

It was quiet in the manor house as JR Chadworth finished up the last of a sheaf of paperwork. War may have raged, but the company's daily affairs still went on. His eyes were not directed to the window across from the door but, even if they had been, he would never have seen the capsule which parachuted down silently amidst the trees of the nearby forest. It was equipped with a full self-contained environmental system, having been dropped from far above the thin cloud layer, so far up that the engines of the delivery plane were never heard. Even as Chadworth's guard patrolled the grounds of the manor, no one noticed the trickle of miniscule figures heading up the drainpipe to the roof, figures much smaller than the ones that had previously assaulted the factory. They moved slowly, in groups small enough to avoid the rattling of the drainpipe in its fittings; it took hours for them to assemble and slowly filter down through the heating ducts of the enormous house, but at last they were all together within the confines of an enormous storeroom…and they coalesced into a different shape. A human shape.  
>JR Chadworth checked over the last form on his desk and penned a neat signature at the bottom. Setting the completed bit of paperwork with the rest of the stack, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose with one hand. He was not old, but there were days he felt it. A slow creak came from outside the door of the study he used as his office, the sound of the single stubborn floorboard no one had been able to silence. Chadworth's eyes snapped open. It was a slow step, a furtive step. Chadworth reached for the 9-millimeter pistol under the desk top, purely a precautionary measure. "Vincent?" There was no answer, and an instant later the doorknob began to turn. The door swung inward, and out of the dark hallway stepped…Chadworth's eyes widened. He did not draw the gun; he was too shocked. It couldn't be…<p>

"Did you miss me?" asked Wonka. He drew a hand from beneath his purple coat; a hand Chadworth could now see was holding a silenced pistol. Wonka grinned. "Quite a surprise, isn't it?" Chadworth could not believe it…there was no way…not even ingenious Wonka could have slipped past Vincent and his men, unless of course he had managed to kill them all somehow…voices spoke from below the window, outside on the ground floor; Wonka hadn't managed to take out the entire guard then…but still there he was, framed in the dark doorway. "I think it's time you and I had a little chat."  
>"How did you find me?" Chadworth asked, feigning fear while discreetly moving his arm to aim at Wonka through the desk. Wonka's grin widened. "Well, I knew you couldn't be at your factory, or else I am sure the place would have had better protection. I just came from there…well, I myself didn't just come from there, but some of my agents naturally, and of course I know what happened…so really it's like I just came from there, even if I didn't."<br>Chadworth's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?" Wonka gestured to the TV screen set into one wall of the study. "Turn on the news!"  
>Without losing his aim on Wonka, Chadworth casually reached across himself, picked up the remote, and turned the set on…turning to the nearest news channel, he did a double take. A pretty blonde reporter was standing on what looked like his access road…she moved slightly to one side, and Chadworth saw behind her the shattered remains of the Chadworth Industries sign. Chadworth stared. "That's…that's…" "I know how you feel," Wonka said, a dreamy expression on his face, "I've always had a thing for Sandra Miller, too. She's the reason I watch the news, really." Chadworth glared at him. "Not her, you imbecile! That's my sign! That's my factory!" Wonka hadn't lost his distant gaze or goofy expression. "Well I suppose your sign is attractive too, though personally I've never really gone for…" he stopped with a bemused look, and glanced down at the pistol in his hand. He looked back at Chadworth. "What were we talking about again?" Wonka asked politely, and then followed it with "Oh…right. Um, factory, yes."<br>"MY FACTORY!" Chadworth roared as he stood, leveling the gun on his enemy's chest with a swift motion. The hand not holding the gun clenched the side of his desk so hard his fingers turned white. "What is it you want from me? You knew where I was tonight! Whatever force it was that you turned on my complex could just as easily have been brought to bear here, and not even my guards would have been able to save me! If you want to kill me…" At that moment, a long silver blade suddenly appeared from nowhere, punching its way through Wonka's chest. The candymaker was driven forward as the blade tore its way back out and slashed. It should not have been so easy to remove a limb, but there it was just the same…Wonka's arm dropped away onto the floor, still holding the gun. A flash of motion and Wonka was on his knees…with Vincent's knife at his throat. "I heard voices." Chadworth gave an unsteady nod. "Thank you." He looked down. "What the…"

Vincent's eyes followed his gaze. No blood came from the stump of Wonka's right arm, and the severed limb was now disintegrated into a host of smaller objects…for that matter, so did the gun. They started off with different colors: black of gunmetal, purple of coat sleeve, pink of flesh…but now they all faded to a strange sort of pale tinge, not-quite-clear with streaks of brighter color drifting about within. "Gummy bears?" Vincent asked disbelievingly, looking up at his brother. JR's expression hardened. He looked down at the fake Wonka, who did not seem terribly unnerved by either being stabbed or losing his arm. On the contrary, he looked up at JR and smiled. "You asked me what I want? I want…everything. Tonight should have shown you that even your security is not airtight, and next time I will send more than just an emissary. You have one week, one week to close Chadworth Industries, sell off your stock, and surrender your recipes. Do this, and I promise you I shall never darken your doorstep again. Fail to obey, and…" The fake Wonka let the sentence trail off, but JR Chadworth had heard enough. Vincent moved back as he advanced on the chameleon, put his pistol to the pretender's head, and blasted it into a shower of the strange gummy bears. Bereft of a head, the rest of the body crumbled, shattering into a cascade of tiny gelatin creatures that tumbled to the floor and lay still.  
>Chadworth replaced his pistol on the desk and stood, his face a mask of grim determination. "JR?" Vincent spoke, but Chadworth didn't even hear him. His voice was quiet and directed more to himself when it came, but there was no disguising its rage…or its slightly manic edge. "Thinks he's won, eh...thinks he's beaten me….I'll show him it's not over yet." JR looked up at Vincent, his fury palpable. "I'LL SEE THIS THING THROUGH TO THE END IF THAT'S WHAT IT TAKES!" Vincent spoke calmly. "We may need more time to gather our strength, though…with the loss of the factory…" "THE FACTORY IS IMMATERIAL! THERE ARE STILL OTHER ASSETS, WHICH WONKA IS HAPPILY IGNORANT OF! LET HIM KEEP HIS NOTIONS OF VICTORY FOR NOW; I CARE NOT! SOON ENOUGH HE WILL LEARN RESPECT FOR THE NAME OF CHADWORTH, THE RESPECT HE NEVER HAD AS A WRETCHED BOY! THIS ISN'T OVER!"<p>

The large screen flickered madly, then froze, depicting the last visual information transmitted to the main receiver. The rage-twisted face of JR Chadworth continued to scowl in hatred as he held up his gun to blow out the brains of the effigy of his lifelong nemesis. But Wonka had seen enough. The image faded to black, and Wonka bowed his head in a moment of reverence for the little gummy warriors that had sacrificed themselves to give Wonka's ultimatum to Chadworth. But the moment soon passed; Wonka raised his head and stood, filled with giddy resolve. Chadworth had seven days; 168 hours to carry out Wonka's demands. Until then, Wonka would withhold his wrath. No sudden attacks, no material interception, and no espionage within the enemy's defenses. Wonka paused, suddenly caught up in the implications. The driving force of his mad genius had always been the presence of his fiend. If Chadworth gave in, then Wonka would have no reason to continue the manic aspects of his inventing. There were, of course, the other competitors, but none were as challenging, or as foolish, as Chadworth had been. Did Wonka really want his rival to give up?


	6. CH 6: Turning the Tide

**A/N** Reviews help us improve the writing skills. Help this story improve by leaving comments or critiques.

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><p><span>CH6: Turning the Tide<span>

JR glowered at his reflection in the computer screen, imagining for a moment that it was Wonka staring back at him instead of his own gaze. And it may as well have been; the numbers and documents depicted on the monitor listed the reports of the drooping popularity of his failing candy business. _Wonka_… the name had long left a bitter taste in Chadworth's mouth. But ever since the "visit" from his emissary, the word also left him with the coppery flavor of fear. Staring at the computer, Chadworth fought an internal battle. He wanted to save his own life; to do so he knew that he must bow to Wonka's demands and shut down his corporation. But he also wanted revenge, not just for himself, but for his whole family. Besides, Wonka was still oblivious to the more deadly assets that the Chadworths had in possession. With these elements, there was still hope. JR glanced down at his hand, positioned on the mouse, ready to click the button that would authorize the closing of Chadworth Industries once and for all. But he paused, hesitant to follow through with the monumental decision. After a moment's passing, his eyes narrowed, and he lifted his hand from the mouse. _Not today, Wonka. Not ever. The Chadworths will fight, even to the death. _He stood up from his desk, and quickly walked out of the office. He had to find Vincent and tell him of his decision. Together they would unleash the forces that had been growing, even during their youth. They just had to be patient. Soon, Wonka would slip up. His location would be revealed; it would be when they would strike.

The allotted week had passed. Wonka frowned as he looked over the report. The Oompa that had delivered it trembled in fear, aware that the Fuhrer carried various sugar-coated instruments of death within his plush coat, and that most bad messages spelled death for its deliverer. But Wonka merely stared at the report, his normally expressive eyes unreadable. _Chadworth had not shut down. _He smirked while congratulating himself on his correct assumption in reference to Chadworth. But his eyes became cold as he imagined what exactly the punishment for Chadworth should be. He looked down at the report once more, and something caught his eye. A string of text reported an item that Intelligence had picked up, something that had to do with new Chadworth products. Wonka read slowly, not wanting to miss anything. _Three tons of ballistics gear, munitions, armor… to be shipped to the Americas… _Wonka stopped reading, an ominous expression crossing his face. Apparently, Chadworth Industries had begun to develop much more than candy… Looking down at the file once more, he narrowed his eyes and proceeded to walk to the briefing room, eager to send his agents to accost Chadworth. Chadworth Industries may make more than candy… But so did Wonka.

Five WSP agents were sent on another mission, this time to seize control of a Chadworth shipment. Taken to the coast by submarine, the darkly clad loompas slipped on their rebreathers, preparing for the long, underwater swim to shore. "Let's move," the team leader said, his voice muffled by the mask. The five Loompas leapt into the dark, murky water and started swimming, moving steadily against the tide. Once on shore, the agents pulled off the rebreathers, storing them in the packs they all carried. They ran swiftly in the direction of the docks, targeting a large warehouse. They reached the doors, barred shut for the night. "Assistance, please." One Loompa ran over to the door, wielding a blowtorch. "Is there any other way to break through? A quieter one?" another asked. "It shouldn't matter," the leader replied lowly. "There's no one here." They all jumped from a sudden crashing. The one holding the torch stopped, anxiously glancing around. "It was probably just a cat…" the leader suggested. The others glanced uneasily at each other before continuing penetration. The only sound to be heard was the crashing of the waves and the hissing of fire on metal. "Nooo!" the cry of a dying Oompa-loompa abruptly split the air, and the other three turned to see the crouching form of a dark man, ensuring that his prey was indeed dead. The survivors fled, taking cover behind barrels and crates that were stacked near the building. The killer rose, twirling his bloody knife, and calling softly, "Come out, come out…"

The other three operatives cowered in fear, but the team leader remained calm. "That man sneaked up on us. That's never happened before…" "What do we do, Commander?" one Oompa asked, calm enough to talk now. "I don't know. This whole time we have been counting on the fact that Chadworth had inferior forces compared to ours. But now, he has a guard that can destroy us without warning…" He stopped as he heard footsteps approach. The steps stopped, and the team leader whispered, barely audible, "Prepare to defend…" The man suddenly appeared from above the crates, eying the trapped Oompas like a prize to be had. "Aha!-"His shout was cut short by a spray of bullets, which connected with his face, shattering his skull and spraying blood everywhere. The freed Oompas now ran for the building, only pausing to examine the dead Oompa. "What do we do with him?" "Melt him?" "Good idea." The deed was performed, and the remaining members of the team ran toward the warehouse as the body of the dead Oompa was dissolved away by super concentrated acids.

Once inside, the team searched for Chadworth's shipment. "I don't see why we just don't blow this place up," one Loompa said. "We certainly have the firepower." "And the skills," the other agreed. "Silence. We must get the shipment because the Fuhrer asked it of us. Who are we to refuse?" the leader said, glaring at the other two. "Now, come on." He motioned toward the stacks of crates in the middle of the warehouse. They located a pile of eight crates bearing Chadworth's logo on them. "Now what? Those crates are too large for us to lift…" "Now, we wait," the leader said, nestling himself among the boxes. The other three did likewise. Morning came, and life began to stir outside the warehouse; workers and sailors had begun to arrive, ready for another typical day of work. A sudden commotion started outside, making the oompas tense. The workers had found the dead man. Time dragged by as the agents waited in suspense, but their position had not been compromised. They were safe for the moment. People came into the warehouse and loaded the crates into trucks, which drove down the dock and to the ships. The Oompas were unwittingly loaded with the Chadworth crates, unnoticed by all the workers. They were placed in the cargo area on the deck, where tons of other crates were stacked, gathered from around the world. The ship set sail, but the Oompas waited for night. "Be on your guard, men," the leader warned. We underestimated Chadworth. He may have some of those unearthly men on board this ship as well." The others glanced uneasily at their leader, recalling their teammate's unfortunate end. "Now let's get this ship turned south…"

The Loompas eased open their crate no more than a few millimeters, just enough for one of the soldiers to feed out a fiber optic probe. "How's it look?" The commander asked. The Loompa twisted the probe slowly, sweeping up and down the aisle between rows of containers. "We're clear, sir. Wait..." At the far end of the row, a single crewman wandered by, whistling was sounded like a snatch of the Beatles' "Yellow Submarine." At first he appeared to be unarmed...as he walked, however, the Loompa caught a glimpse of a large angular bulge on his right thigh. He disappeared behind the corner, and the Loompa watched for a few more seconds, making sure the man did not return. There was no further movement...just a crew member making his usual rounds. The Loompa retracted the probe and turned to the commander. "This isn't good, sir; it looks like the entire crew is packin' heat." The commander made a low sound of frustration. "This shipment had better be bloody important. All right, men. It looks like we're going to have to take out just about the entire ship's complement. I don't have to tell you that 'swift and silent' is the name of the game." He turned back to the soldier with the probe, who was again scanning the aisle. "Are we clear?" "Yes, sir!" "Here we go then. Move it out!"

The side of the crate popped off silently, and four black-clad figures emerged, clutching their Oompa-Loompa-scale MP5s close to their chests. They formed a three-man semicircle as the team's final member fitted the side of their box back in place, securing it with a small quick-release clamp...hidden amidst a wilderness of other such identical crates, this box still might serve as an emergency fall-back if things went sour. Not that they would...the commander had yet to fail a mission, a record he was eager to maintain. Besides, not only was this Chadworth shipment of the highest priority, it had already cost the life of one of his team. _Blood had to be repaid..._

The Loompas made their way silently to the end of the row, where a fiber-optic probe was again fed out; two crew members stood nearby, chatting over their cigarettes. Clearly the ship's entire normal crew had been replaced by Chadworth's hired goons; one man carried a Skorpion submachine gun, the other a cut-down Kalashnikov. Not that there would be a chance for them to use them...the Loompas broke cover, and neither man had a chance to do more than register movement before they were both brought down. With their weapons set to semi-automatic, the Loompas demonstrated their superb accuracy training...two perfect headshots, two easy kills. The Loompas dragged the dead men back into the shadows, but there was no way the two corpses would remain hidden for long, not with the number of patrols on board. Before the team could properly sweep the ship, they had another target to eliminate. Moving toward the stern and eliminating another three guards on their way, the commandos reached the vessel's bridge tower. The rear of the vessel was a little too well-lit for the commander's taste; fortunately, however, the operations area was not at deck level. The commander and two of his men fell back to cover as the final Loompa activated a quartet of small magnetic gripper pads, affixing them to the palms of his gloves and the toes of his boots. He then began scaling straight up the metal side of the tower, the thick layer of ship's paint no impediment to the miniaturized electromagnets attached to his limbs. A guard rounded the side of the bridge tower just below the soldier's position, but the commander didn't fire. Not yet. The climbing Loompa immediately stopped and silently drew one hand away from the metal, pulling his silenced pistol. He trained it straight down on the head of the oblivious fool below him, but even he did not fire...the man stopped for a few seconds, stretched and yawned loudly, and then continued on into the container stacks. It was interesting, really: humans, and for that matter civilian Oompa-loompas, had a tendency to keep their eyes on the ground. As long as you were above the immediate line of sight, you were safe. The commander had not been willing to risk breaking cover to dispose of a body in a brightly lit area; the moment the man passed into the shadows of the crate stacks, however, he fired a single shot and the unfortunate guard crumpled. Resuming his climb, the other soon reached the top of the bridge tower. His objective was the ship's communications gear; planting an electronic jammer on the main satellite relay, he then proceeded to rip out the wiring for the other backup systems. The effect was immediate; alarms sounded on the bridge, and the troops pressed themselves back further into the shadows as running crewmen passed them. "Too late to turn back to port," the commander chuckled to himself, "even if they try it, we'll never let them make it."

After five minutes of utter chaos, the ship did indeed begin to swing slowly around...the deck, however, quieted. Now was the time. The Loompa atop the bridge tower silently descended, and the team now began its bloody sweep of the ship. The vessel's crew was cut off; with the prospect of hostile reinforcements out of the way, the Oompa-loompas could now assume complete control of the ship. Starting at the bow, they moved like shadows. The crew simply began disappearing one by one, gradually eliciting greater and greater hysteria from the shrinking number of survivors; within half an hour, the deck security teams had been dealt with, and the Loompas could move on to securing the bridge and the engine room. Again splitting his team, two men moved below, while the commander and his remaining trooper headed topside. A few hostiles guarded the entrance to the bridge, their demeanor clearly bordering on panic. The commander kicked over a pallet of barrels to get their attention; nerves on edge, the three men wildly sprayed their weapons in the direction of the sound, without daring to actually descend to the deck. While they were still peering into the darkness, looking to see if they had actually hit anything, the commander and his backup came from behind. A silenced pistol coughed, knives flashed, and the three crumpled. Rushing onto the bridge, the Loompa commander did not bother with any theatrics as he had on the _Amber Sky_; he came through the door with weapon shouldered, and the vessel's captain had a chance to get out no more than a startled "Oh.." before he was stitched up by a three-round burst. Securing the bridge, the commander clicked on his radio. "Three, status report."

Nothing but static greeted his ears. "Three, check in." Nothing. "Three, what's going on down there? Are you..." He never had a chance to finish the sentence. Hearing a cry of alarm from behind him, the commander turned to see his subordinate raising his gun to fire, and a black-clad figure swinging shut the watertight bulkhead at one side of the bridge. The Loompas both whirled just in time to see the opposite door swing shut as well...and lock FROM THE OUTSIDE! On any normal vessel, the locking handles should have been on the insides of the doors, but there was nothing but smooth metal..."IT'S A TRAP!" the other Loompa shouted, rather unnecessarily, as the ship's air conditioning system roared to life and a thick white mist began pouring out of the vents...

The commander came to on his side, disarmed and with his hands tied behind him. Just to his left and right were the other members of his WSP team, all identically bound. He turned his head to the right, to see a group of men in black, dressed much the same way as his own commandos but human-size of course..."Looks like one of them is awake!" The commander immediately registered the man's accent; the same as the ghost from the pier, a new kind of Chadworth mercenary. The commander was roughly hoisted to his feet and could now properly see for the first time; three more of the enemy was nearby, examining the design of the Loompas' miniaturized but deadly firearms. Suddenly the captain's chair swung around to face him, and he recognized..."You." It was a man he had never encountered personally, a face he had seen only in the tertiary files attached to the biography of JR Chadworth that formed customary reading for all agents of Wonka's elite forces. A relative of Wonka's enemy...incarcerated indefinitely for...the details of the file escaped the commander at the moment.

"Yes, me." Vincent smiled. "Your face, my small friend, betrays you. I see the beginnings of recognition, but nothing concrete. Allow me, therefore, to introduce myself properly: Vincent Chadworth, brother to our mutual friend JR." The Loompa's face hardened. That was it. Vincent; the man whom the Fuhrer had believed was destroyed. Chadworth continued. "Doubtless you believe this vessel to be carrying cargo of some importance, what with the encoded manifests, the intricate show of security; not too ostentatious but noticeable enough to attract Wonka's attention. Am I right?" The commander still said nothing. Vincent smiled again. "I must commend you, by the way. Your elimination of our security was most professionally done, even enough to get the better of my men and me. I am already due for a lecture when I arrive back on the mainland...we were ordered to keep casualties to a minimum, but you were quiet enough to fool even our sensitive ears at first. Really a remarkable show, and I beg your pardon for bringing it to such an abrupt end. I, however, am here because I need information, information which you possess. I will not waste either of our time by attempting standard interrogation methods. Rather, I will ask you directly: Where is Wonka?"

The commander could not suppress a derisive snort. "You expect me to answer you, just like that?" Vincent's smiles had been artificial, his eyes cold and calculating; now, in a heartbeat, his entire face faded to the same chillingly cold expression and, when he smiled, it was nothing short of terrifying. "Actually...I do." Vincent made a subtle motion of his head, and his men advanced, one of them seizing the commander himself, the others hoisting the WSP members upright. They were now coming around as well, and one of the Loompas in question gave a sharp "WHAT THE..." as he was yanked off his feet. Vincent led the way out onto the observation platform just outside the bridge, down the steps to the deck, and forward to the ship's bow. Vincent turned to an unseen man at the railing. "HIT IT!" Instantly, several brilliant floodlights were switched on, their circles of illumination rotating outward to focus on a patch of water just to one side of the bow. The Loompa commander was pushed forward to the railing. He noticed that the ship had been stopped and was now anchored at sea; apparently Chadworth wanted the vessel stationary for whatever he was about to do. The commander did not know what his enemy intended, but it wasn't going to be good.

Vincent extended his arm, encompassing the pool of illuminated water with a sweeping gesture. "About this time of year, warm currents coming up from the Earth's equator sweep through, bringing with them schools of sharks normally alien to these waters. These tropical beasts are not as well noted as many of the more prominent species of cold-water sharks, but let me assure you they are still more than effective predators. I ask you again: Where is Wonka?" The commander glared at Vincent. "You think I'm afraid of you or your damned fishes? Kill me whatever way you want, I won't tell you a thing." "WHERE IS WONKA?" The commander broke out in a sweat, but his resolution was in no way diminished. Though fear began to press on him, his mental conditioning ensured that, even if he wished to with all his heart, he could not, literally could not, betray the Fuhrer. He gave the standard military reply. "My field designation is OS-22. My rank is captain, WSP. My serial number is WP-337-OS-22." Vincent's expression hardened further, if that were possible. "As you wish."

Before the commander could even react, one of Vincent's fighters drew a wicked, curved blade and made a deep slash across the chest of the other WSP agent, slicing straight through the commando's Kevlar tactical harness. With a swift motion, the Malay then threw the unfortunate victim overboard, the Loompa hitting the water headfirst with a colossal splash. "Now," Vincent said, "I wouldn't guess that your friend has more than three or four minutes to live. Not from blood loss, oh no, he's in no danger there. But I'll wager that our friends below already smell that sweet, sweet blood, and it won't be long before they get here. If you want to save his life, tell me: Where is Wonka?" "OS-22, Captain, WSP." "WHERE IS WONKA?" "OS-22, CAPTAIN, WSP!" "WHERE..." But it didn't take three minutes. There was a scream, and the commander's eyes turned, seemingly of their own volition, to look. It was over in seconds. "I have two more of your men," Vincent said, "They will suffer the same fate." The commander was screaming. "I CANNOT TELL YOU, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I LITERALLY CAN...NOT...TELL...YOU! I AM PHYSICALLY PROGRAMMED!" But the argument was of no avail. Another man went overboard, and then the other. Vincent's voice was quiet when the question came again. "Where is Wonka?" The commander only shook his head, his poor mind feeling as if it were tearing itself in two, his fear battling against his conditioning. There was nothing for it. The knife lashed out, stinging his body, his face, and then he felt himself being lifted, thrown, then hurtling into nothing. Though his conscious mind felt nothing but resignation, however, his subconscious still fought for survival. Of its own decision it seemed, his hand shot out as he fell, seizing the auxiliary safety chain for the anchor. The rough links tore his hand, but he suddenly stopped, swinging above the waves. He looked up, hearing voices above him. "I don't see him!" "Current probably sucked him under the boat! Don't worry about it; he's wasted!"

A tremendous grinding rumbled through the hull as the anchor began to rise; the commander, numb with pain and shock, simply clung tightly to the chain as it was winched upwards. He eased himself down onto the anchor, gripping the steel with both hands. He held on as the boat rocked, feeling the blood drying on his hands and face, watching as the lights of the shore slowly drew back into sight. When at last he could hold on no longer, he fell into the sea, his last action was to activate the emergency beacon clipped to his vest. Then the world went black...

Vincent was pacing the bridge, furious at the lack of progress. He had not anticipated mental conditioning, but he should have known...it was just Wonka's style. The paranoid genius trusting no one but himself; of course he would engineer servants who were incapable of betraying him, no matter how much suffering they themselves were forced to endure on his behalf. Ah, Wonka...the man who had destroyed Vincent's life. He would pay. Oh yes, he would.

"Sir, we've found something!" Vincent turned to see one of his men holding what looked like a miniature satellite phone, a souvenir he had taken from one of the Oompa-loompas. Vincent gave a half-shrug. "Satellite phone, So what? I'm certain Wonka will have scrambled his lines of communication..." "It's more than just a phone, sir. Look." Vincent took the device...indeed the man was right. This was far more than just a communications device; Vincent turned it over, and a digital screen slid out, displaying a blue screen with some sort of icon in the center...and coordinates. It wasn't just a blue screen, it represented water...a GPS tracker! Vincent suddenly found himself electrified, almost trembling with anticipation. He accessed the database, running a back-trace of the Loompas' mission. Where had they come from? The map panned south, past the equator, down along the coast of South America...The device's screen fizzed to static for the briefest of seconds, and a high-pitched beeping started from its miniature speaker...text appeared on the screen..."LOW POWER"? Was this a joke?...the map continued to scroll down along the coast of Argentina, almost to the tip of the continent...and then the screen went black. Vincent didn't bother attempting to switch the device back on. The map had still been panning steadily south when the device died, and there was only one location southward of what he had just seen...

Vincent turned to his soldier as if seeing the man for the first time. "See if you can figure out what the devil is wrong with our communications systems. I need a helicopter to meet us at the port, a direct flight to corporate headquarters. I have something JR will want to hear personally. I think I've found our enemy."

"Fuhrer Wonka, sir!" Willy snapped out of his reverie and looked down, where an Oompa-loompa stood, trying to get his full attention. "What is it?" Wonka asked, his mind still elsewhere. "Oh, my Fuhrer, it's terrible, but you won't believe…" he paused to catch his breath. "Get on with it!" Wonka sighed tetchily. The Oompa froze, momentarily unsure, but then continued. "The WSP went on a mission a few days ago… Only one agent made it back!" Wonka wondered for a second why this was of any concern, but the urgency in the Oompa's voice made him begin to worry. "Well, what happened to the others?" "I don't know, my Fuhrer. No one does. Communications lost contact with them shortly after they made it to the point of interception… The survivor himself is in really bad shape…" Wonka drew in a sharp breath. "Where did you say he was?" "ICU, sir. Like I said, he was pretty torn up." Wonka nodded curtly to the Oompa, who watched aghast as Wonka dashed down the corridor, his purple coattails flapping behind him.

Wonka burst through the swinging white doors, then stopped to catch his breath. He looked around, searching for ICU, when he noticed Oompa doctors and nurses staring questioningly at him. Having caught his breath, Wonka stood straight, his hat only one foot away from the low ceiling. "Where is the WSP agent?" he said, more of a demand than a question. "Recovery." One of the doctors replied coolly, before continuing to fill out the numerous documents spread before him. Wonka nodded his thanks and headed toward the post-surgery area. Locating it, he entered the chamber and glanced about him. He grimaced when he caught sight of the injured operative. The messenger had been right- the Oompa was in bad shape. His face bore evidence of stitches, and his body was covered with large bandages that Wonka assumed covered horrendous wounds. He stepped over to the tiny bed and knelt, the bed only coming up to the tops of his thighs. He shook his head slowly as he thought of what could have happened to destroy the Oompa's teammates.

He was about to move away, out of respect for the injured soldier, but the Oompa had begun to stir. He opened his eyes and gazed at Wonka, his sight registering amazement, hope, and fear all at once. "My Fuhrer," he rasped weakly. "I tried. We all did." Wonka settled down beside the bed once more. "Tell me what happened." He urged softly. The Oompa nodded, but grimaced from the slash wounds he had on his face and chest. "We had made it to the point of interception; all was going well. We even took out a few of the crew and the captain without arousing any outcry. But…" "But? Wonka prompted. The Oompa's eyes held a distant look as he revisited the scene in his mind. "We fell into a trap. The command bridge had been rigged as if they had been anticipating us. We were gassed, and upon regaining consciousness, we were interrogated. They asked for your location, but we refused to give it." Wonka paused. "What happened to your teammates?"He asked. The Oompa sighed dispiritedly. "The enemy has gained greater forces. Chadworth has acquired guards that have skills comparable to ours. They managed to take us by surprise. In the end, they seized us, slashed each of us, then dropped us overboard. I was able to catch hold of the anchor before plummeting into the water, but the others landed in the ocean." Wonka put the pieces together. "Sharks," he murmured to himself. The Oompa shut his eyes and clenched his fists. "I watched them struggle at the surface, then get torn to bloody pieces. I SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THEM!" His last sentence turned into an angry half-wail, half-yell that brought a nurse running in. he looked sadly at the afflicted patient, before injecting him with a heavy sedative. Immediately, the Oompa relaxed, his scream turning into soft sobs that soon quieted completely. Withdrawing the syringe, the nurse turned and noticed Wonka for the first time. "Oh, my Fuhrer!" he said, standing rigidly. But Wonka wasn't listening. He was digesting the information he had just been given. Apparently, Chadworth was becoming smarter. How he had obtained such fearsome-sounding forces, he had no idea, but such challenges were only meant for Wonka to overcome. Willy looked down at the now peaceful Oompa, damaged and mentally scarred. True, he was far from cute, and new Oompa-loompas were generated periodically, but he was Wonka's creation. No one had the right to destroy or manipulate it except Wonka. Willy got to his feet, his expression hard, and his mind made up. He would exact the price from Chadworth at all and any costs. The price: total surrender.

He paced restlessly, his face expressionless as his mind processed the implications of this new information. JR was dubious about Vincent's supposed discovery; after all, it would be just like Wonka to falsify his location and set a trap for Chadworth's forces. Vincent had pointed out that Wonka had obviously not expected his operatives to get killed, nor for his technology to fall into enemy hands. Though JR desperately wanted to believe that the reticent Wonka had finally been found, so much had been lost because they had previously underestimated the adversary's power. JR was hesitant to send out anything more than a small task force for recon purposes; he did not want to waste anything just because his brother had _allegedly_ found a tracking device that had located Wonka. He stopped pacing, and gazed through the window of his office, watching the guards drilling on the grassy lawn. Vincent was among them now, going through the paces with more defined skill than the others; he had obviously found his element, and had embraced it with his all. JR observed with interest as the exercise continued. His brother had changed, whether for the better or the worse, JR could not tell. But as the saying goes, "blood is thicker than water", so JR would stick with his only surviving relative through whatever hellish nightmare that Wonka put them through. JR stepped over to his desk and lifted the phone from its cradle, dialing a number that he had rarely used, and had done so with increasing hesitation each time. The line hummed as the connection was placed, then clicked as the person on the other side picked up. "Hello." The voice on the other end was cold and unwelcoming. JR's spine tingled at the sound, but he spoke with determination. "This is Chadworth. I request activation of the forces. It will require a spread of different skills; I would like to choose the men needed for this mission. I will adjourn to your destination in a short while." The line hissed for a few moments, and JR feared that the sinister man had hung up. But the frosty voice came again, no less chilling than before. "Affirmative, sir. We will be waiting for your arrival." JR set the phone back in its cradle and let out a deep breath. He had spoken with the Guardian of the militant branch before, but he was never prepared to take the brunt of subliminal wintriness that seemed to constantly emanate from the man. He glanced at the wall clock. 5:34. The sun would be setting in a few hours. It would be then that he would board the helicopter, destined to land at a secure facility in the northernmost reaches of England. There he would choose the men needed to scout the icy wastelands for the hypothetical location of Wonka. Maybe, just maybe, the end of Wonka is near at hand.


	7. CH 7: Recon

**Sum:** Chadworth is building an army...

**A/N** Reviews help us improve the writing skills. Help this story improve by leaving comments or critiques.

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><p>CH7: recon<p>

The helicopter's blades violently churned the air, propelling the sleek vessel over fields and streams toward a rocky fortress hidden near England's northern shore. JR felt for a moment that it was the anxious beating of his heart, not the tremulous vibrating of the craft, that made him feel ill. He had never really liked flying, and could only imagine what had driven his father to invest in such a thing. Of course, Stephen Chadworth had held many mysterious assets that JR had become aware of only after the senior Chadworth's demise. What more his father had been hiding, JR could not guess. Such secrets had died with SX Chadworth; JR could simply hope that they would remain there with him in his grave.

The chopper hovered low over the stony coast, as if the pilot was searching for a landmark that would direct him to the landing place. Finding it, he steered the craft toward a canyon that was just wide enough to permit an entrance for the craft's rotating blades. Navigating the mazelike passageway, the pilot flew the chopper into a massive, cave-like chamber, which was lit by sunbeams shining through a gap in the ceiling and by a host of manmade illuminators that were much like massive floodlights. In the center of the cave floor, a large landing pad had been erected. Here, the pilot landed the craft, allowing the chopper rotors to come to a rest before opening the door for JR. With a deep breath, Chadworth gathered his wit, and exited the craft.

He was met by the Guardian of the forces, a man of an intimidating appearance known by the name of Wes Langford. "Mr. Chadworth." he greeted, using the same unsettling voice that he had used to address JR over the phone. JR covered his discomfort with impatience. "Mr. Langford, I don't pay you to stand around looking tough. I came here to select a team; that's what I expect you to assist me in." The other, if taken aback by Chadworth's snippiness, showed no sign of it, but blinked indifferently and motioned for JR to follow. JR glanced back at the chopper pilot, who nodded in reassurance. He returned the gesture, and turned to trail behind Langford.

They stood around a table, which was covered in stacks of personal files. Langford "assisted" JR by recommending certain men, and showing him their personal files, withdrawing them from those spread atop the table. Though JR could have cared less about the personal information and achievements on the part of these men, he did want the best of the best on the team; he knew that anything less would pose no threat to Wonka… _assuming he was truly there in Antarctica_… So far, JR had selected several men, to be led by a Captain Monteux, whose experience with frigid terrain and leadership qualities made him a worthy candidate to be the mission leader. JR glanced at the stack of files that he had accumulated. An assemblage of assassins, former bomb squad members, a pilot, and snipers made for an interesting team. _This should be enough for recon. _JR handed the files to Langford, who solemnly took them. JR, as if suddenly remembering, pulled a thick manila envelope from his coat, and gave it to Langford. The other seemed to glare at JR, but he took the folder anyway. "It's the mission details," JR told him, unconcerned about the way Langford felt about him. "Be sure to brief the men on 'William Wonka' before sending them out." Langford nodded slowly, waiting for JR to mention something else. But JR had nothing else to say, so he left Langford to carry out his demands, retracing the path he had taken from the helipad. As he did so, he looked about in wonderment, observing the hidden forces that his father had apparently been developing since before JR had been born. Everywhere in the cavern, there were structures and soldiers. The buildings obviously held normal facilities for the use of the soldiers; JR could make out a mess hall, an armory, and a communications building. And the soldiers themselves seemed to have plenty do despite living in an enclosed environment. Some were drilling maneuvers; some were testing or maintaining various weapons; some were heading toward the barracks to catch a little shut-eye. There must have been thousands of them; all with different skills and classes, hidden from the view of the world. JR shook his head as he boarded the chopper once more. _It's like having hidden a nightmare._

Dozens of white coated Oompa-loompas hastened about the hangar control room, manning the intricate operations performed by the computers and maintaining the system that regulated the necessary conditions for the newest Wonka project. Several of the more curious technicians glanced up a few times to catch glimpses of the subject of their labor. Through a thick, shatterproof window, they could see the ground level of the hangar, where multiple clusters of oompa engineers monitored a host of enormous vehicles – large, sleek vessels designed for space travel. In the very center of the cavernous chamber stood a massive, steel craft; it was connected to huge rockets that would supply the necessary amount of fuel to propel the vessel into the outer reaches of the earth's atmosphere, where it would then be permanently stationed in a geosynchrous orbit. This craft was to become the first branch of the Outer Space Base, a future addition to Wonka's collection of factory command centers. Wonka, conscious of earth's increasing degradation, desired to have another command center that would be a safe location to retreat to in case the polar ice caps ever did melt. If such a catastrophe were to occur, it would undoubtedly destroy the Antarctic base, and the increased pressure on the ocean floor would most likely obliterate the currently benign undersea base as well. To prepare for the worst, Wonka had hatched an idea that constituted space travel. And thus, the Antarctic Space Program was born.

Willy was now working among the Oompa engineers, appearing to be a torch-wielding giant among grey-suited dwarves. He walked carefully amidst them, examining the various craft for any flaws. He had drawn up the schematics for the ships, and had given the plans to the engineers. They had performed expertly, following his designs to the last detail. Satisfied that each craft had been created according to his plans, he now awaited word on the completion of the most vital part of the program. An Oompa came rushing toward him, and Wonka leapt up in expectation. "Fuhrer Wonka, we have recalibrated the prototype engines; they await your assessment." Wonka nodded his acknowledgement to the Oompa messenger and dashed off to the testing area. He was more than eager for the program to get underway, to get the ships prepared for takeoff, but it would be a while yet before any of the vehicles would be ready for action. The vessels still had yet to be fitted with heat shields and force field generators, and weapons in case of some alien attack. But the engines would undeniably be the most crucial part of the program. All the vehicles would be useless without them; the shuttles would need them in order to assemble the space station, and to make supply runs between the base and earth. _If the engines on such a craft were to suddenly fail…_ Wonka shook off the thought. He entered the testing room, where dozens of computer screens displayed test results and multiple visual scenarios for the ships in question. Wonka noticed one that pictured the ship disintegrating upon reentry. He sniffed in amusement, which drew the attention of the engineers who had been poring over the designs and computer models. Wonka cleared his throat. "I was told that the engines have been… repaired. I have come to inspect them." The majority of the engineers nodded, but one Oompa coughed to cover his nervousness, clearly remembering the loss of life associated with the first test run. Wonka glared at the Oompa, who had been responsible for the accident, but then turned and approached the chamber that contained the prototype.

Wonka was pleased with the final design of the engines; the engineers had completed their task with grace, despite the grisly incident associated with the test run of the original prototype. All the vessels would soon be fitted with engines like these, though the size and force of thrust exerted by each would be determined by the mass and shape of the craft. After all the vehicles had been tested, and the first oompa astronauts were prepped for takeoff, the primary fleet of spacecraft would be sent into space, where they would assemble the station in the ether. Wonka smiled slightly as he ran his hand through his graying hair and thought mildly to himself. _Wonka's candies, the greatest confectionary delights in the universe…_

He wasn't sure which angered him more: the fact that nearly a week had passed and his men had not yet contacted him, or that the post-summer weather of Antarctica brought vicious storms that prevented any worthwhile aerial photographs from being taken. JR looked out the slowly darkening window of his office, aware that every moment wasted was another moment closer toward Wonka's judgment. The only hope that JR held was that they would find and destroy the fiend before he could annihilate them all. JR wanted to believe that his team had reached the Antarctic Circle by now, but if that were true, they would surely have contacted him, informing him that they had reached the checkpoint at McMurden City, a civilized area that was more of a collaboration of huts and prefabricated shelters assembled in a scattered formation than a true city. Home to a variety of scientists, McMurden would be a safe location for JR's men to set up camp, provided that they stay true to their disguises. Under the semblance of geologists, biologists, and volcanologists, the men would appear to be studying the continent, but would actually be searching for Wonka. The only opposition that the scouts were liable to face was the small security detail in McMurden, the harsh weather, and Interpol. _Certainly they would have no trouble reaching the literal end of the world. But finding Wonka…_ JR let the thought trail off. With one last cursory glance out the window, he closed the blinds and left his office. With his men currently out of communications, he could only wait, hoping that Vincent's hunch was right, and that the amount of firepower in the team's possession was sufficient…

The biting wind threw stinging particles of snow into the air, obscuring the view of the recon team. Captain Monteux glanced back at the men following him, who were floundering against the vicious gale. Their transport had been forced down on the ice by unusually strong crosswinds. The vehicle crashed, and was partly embedded in the frost. As a result, he and his men had no choice but to extract their supplies and adjourn to civilization on foot. That had been around 0300, when dark clouds were beginning to form on the horizon. It was now 0500. He had hoped to reach McMurden before the storm hit, but the ferocity and suddenness of the gale had caught them off guard. He stopped and kneeled to assist one of the men, who had gotten his foot caught against a hunk of ice. At this rate, they would all freeze to death before they reached civilization, and the mission would fail before any real effort on the part of this mission had been made.

The team continued on in this manner for a few thousand feet, helping each other battle the harsh terrain, and hoping against all odds that McMurden was near. Suddenly, as if in answer to their prayers, dim lights shone through the grey curtain of the blizzard as beacons of hope. The men staggered toward them, desperate for reprieve from the chilling air and the stinging of ice. With hope anew, they stumbled into the midst of the camp, ready to collapse but remained standing for the sake of their pride.

Monteux was relieved that they had made it, but there was still the problem of dealing with the locals. As his weary men looked on, he approached the main building, which looked like it had been locked down for the duration of the massive storm. Monteux, despite his anxiety, banged loudly against the metal door, hoping that his pounding would not be mistaken as repercussions of the storm. Though he was sure that the door was thick, he was able to hear loud exclamations from inside. He drew in a quick breath, and the door began to open. A man, as bundled up as Monteux and his team, scanned the area beyond the door. Seeing the destitute travelers, he urgently beckoned them inside, aware that the storm was only getting worse.

His name was Dillon Faye, one of the top scientists based at McMurden. He was in his late thirties, and had come to Antarctica to study the curious weather patterns caused by the currents and wind streams indigenous to the south end of the world. Because of his occupation, he had been excited by the rising storm. Its growing magnitude impressed him, and he was eager to study it in greater depth. But upon opening the storm door after having heard the curious knocking, his excitement was checked. It seemed that a group of scientists had met misfortune. From what they had told him, their aircraft had gone down on the Ross Ice Shelf, the great sheet of ice that encompassed the better part of the continent. The people had managed to make it out, but the friction of the crash had briefly melted some of the ice, allowing it to freeze fast to the craft. The poor travelers had made it to McMurden by foot- a great journey that normally would take a few hours given good weather conditions and the right equipment. Dillon sympathized with the disheartened men, who were presumably volcanologists, meteorologists, and geologists; and offered them the hospitality and protection of McMurden. The other patrons of the city had agreed to extend the welcome, provided that the newcomers learn the rules and safety guidelines of the compound. Monteux and his men eagerly complied, happy that they had survived the first part of the mission, and more than ready to accomplish the rest.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of these civilians. Monteux was glad that his team was safe, and had gotten to the checkpoint without losing any men, but he was appalled when he was informed that the base lacked viable communications and security. Faye tried to explain. "The extreme conditions make practical communications systems obsolete. The winds knock down satellite equipment, and the storms disrupt radio transmissions. Besides, the harsh weather is all the security we need," he said, as if that were enough reason to have settled Monteux's growing apprehension. "Moreover, we are self sustaining. The only communication we need comes from the outgoing ships and aircraft." The Captain bit his lip for the duration of the lecture, thinking of a thousand Wonka-related reasons why these people were not as safe as they thought. Monteux had few doubts that the enigmatic candymaker could survive here; he had read the thick file containing the details on all of Wonka's seemingly impossible exploits. It would be a little thing for him to find a way to overcome the cold. It was amazing that he had allowed these people to continue living here for so long. _If he was really here_, Monteux reminded himself. He gazed out at the snow swirling in the twilight. When his team had regained their strength, they would begin the search for Wonka. All he could do was hope that they were ready for the task.

Monteux frowned as he watched the gale through the thick window. Its shape reminded him of a porthole, and it may as well have been; though the sun was still up, as it would be until the winter months descended, the turbulent swirling of snow completely blinded his view, turning it grey like a thick sea fog. A white out, the locals called it. Beyond the icy curtain, anything could be happening. Anyone who had come up with some way to overcome the chill would undoubtedly have the advantage in every situation. But Monteux could not remain idle as they waited for the storms to subside; he had only a few precious weeks until winter set in, and the continent was plunged into complete darkness. He and his men must venture out and complete their mission, whether Wonka was truly out there or not.

Unbeknownst to all, Monteux's forebodings were correct. Something _was_ happening in the midst of the storm, continuing on as it had been since Wonka's arrival to Antarctica. Willy's aboveground forces used the blanket of snow as a cover to complete their routine surveillance runs. Though the factory and all its important components remained beneath the surface, where there were warmth and secrecy, certain things aboveground required maintenance and shielding from the eyes of the world. Well aware of the presence of the people at McMurden and other settlements on the outer fringes of the continent, Wonka had organized groups of Oompa-loompas to ensure that their secret location _remained_ a secret location. The surface teams, comprised of engineer, medic, and security Oompas, were a rough bunch, hardened to the cold and harsh environment, sworn to protect the territory at all costs. Their headquarters, located at the direct center of Antarctica, served as a hub and refueling station for their vehicles, and was also the center for Wonka's meteorological and astronomical studies. Surrounding it were numerous ice encrusted columns— the exhaust pipes of Wonka's candymaking machines. Glistening with a thick layer of frost and accumulated snowflakes, the columns now looked like a part of the landscape, save for the fact that they spouted great clouds of steam and smoke. It was the surface teams' duty to periodically survey the broad territory that spanned the distance of the factory, making certain that no outsiders came close enough the spy the pipes and their exhaust. This task they fulfilled with zeal. So far, none of the McMurden residents had come close to finding the deep valley in which the base was located, but no one could predict when that could change…

Despite the imploration of Dr. Faye, Monteux and his men had suited up, and were now preparing for the exploration of the continent. "The storm will blind you," Faye insisted. "And the wind chill will make any venture outside the camp unbearable. Just wait a little longer! The skies will clear soon." but Monteux was resolute. Every passing minute meant sixty seconds closer toward Antarctica's season of darkness, and sixty seconds less that his employer might have to live.

They loaded their gear onto the borrowed snowmobiles, which included equipment to be used to search for cavities in the ground, pickaxes to break through ice barriers, and boxes of weaponry and ammunition. Securing the last pack, they mounted their vehicles and were led by Monteux into the icy mist.

The blizzard was still raging, sending bouts of ice and snow cascading toward the ground. Monteux glanced upward toward the falling ice particles, gauging the time that they had spent away from the camp. He glanced down at his timepiece, then returned his sight skyward, the white flakes obscuring his vision. The sun glowed dimly through the flurry, and it churned his stomach to think of what it would be like when the sun dipped below the horizon for a season. _If it is so hard to see know, what would it be like when it became perpetually dark? _He relaxed his grip on the handlebar for a moment, his snowmobile slowing until it stopped completely, its gears groaning to a halt. He listened for a second, straining to hear beyond the sound of the wind blowing past his baclava. Catching the sound of the other snowmobiles emanating from behind him, he revved his engine, assuring the others that he was still ahead. The whine of the vehicles drew near, and soon Monteux was able to discern dull orange of the other snowmobiles through the haze. One of the men pulled directly alongside of him. "How much farther do you want to go, sir?"Monteux pondered this for a moment. They had been out for several hours. Despite his men's excellent training, nothing could have prepared them for this kind of challenge. Antarctica was a world all its own; his team was cold and exhausted; and contrary to Faye's prediction, the storm still wore on. He sighed, the water vapor from his expelled breath fogging up his goggles and immediately freezing to the lenses. Wiping off the residue, he gave his disheartened response. "Let's return to base. I shouldn't have thought we would have found anything on our first run. Wonka may not even be here, for all we know." The other nodded, and gave the command to the others, who had drawn near. They began to pull out, turning to go back the way they had come, but a loud exclamation was emitted by the man in the rear, the sound of his engine dying, and his loud cursing ringing out over the noise of the wind. Monteux and the others turned back. When they came within visible range of the team member, they were able to see him floundering in the snow beside his snowmobile, the ground around him turning crimson. Monteux's blood ran cold. He gave a loud command to the others, who promptly drew an emergency kit, and their weapons. Monteux nodded to Jason, the more medically experienced man in the team, and stepped back with his weapon drawn to cover the downed man and the medic.

He saw nothing except for the endless grey of the freezing powder, and heard nothing except the wailing of the angry wind and the occasional expletive emitted by the wounded soldier. He fought to keep his gun still, but the cold and dread had reached him to the core, and his hands shook uncontrollably. This suspenseful predicament appeared to have had the same effect on his other men, who had formed a perimeter around the circle of snowmobiles and the wounded man; the injured operative was now bandaged and bundled up against the cold to prevent his open wound from freezing. The medic Jason finished replacing the kit on his vehicle, and walked up to Monteux. "I think we should be worried." "What did you find?" Monteux asked uneasily, noting the alarm in the other's voice. Jason didn't reply. With a grim look on his face, he extended his mitt-covered hand and directed the beam of his flashlight onto his palm. Monteux looked down, examining the bloody, frost covered object that was in its center. _This must be what he removed from the wound_. He took the projectile into his hand, and wiped off the blood and ice for a better look. It was too big to be a bullet, though its shape was almost the same, a perfect sphere… under the ice and drying blood, he saw a flash of assorted colors. He glanced back to Jason, who seemed to be thinking the same thing. _What the hell?_ The thing he now held his hand, that had come out of nowhere and had penetrated his man's skin through an insulated suit, was a type of candy that he had once eaten as a young boy. Jason's apprehension was visible, despite his tinted goggles and baclava. "A jawbreaker?" Monteux nodded gravely. This could only mean…Another cry rang out, coinciding with the collapse of one of the men. Monteux leapt to his feet, weapon ready. The team was thrown into panic, but this time they turned and fired into the snowy veil, the sound of their shots unsuppressed by the volatile weather. They dove for cover behind their snowmobiles just as the rattle of return fire rang out, and lethal pellets embedded themselves in the snow and in the chassis of the vehicles. Monteux glanced about, wildly searching the unreadable fog for their adversaries. But the volley of projectiles seemed to be coming from everywhere; he could not discern the enemy's number or their position. He and his team had no advantage; they had one dead and one wounded soldier, they were all weary, and their location offered no help. But they would not go down without a fight. Monteux lifted his M-16 to his shoulder and chambered a round, determined to take out as many opponents as possible. He signaled to his men, who did the same, save for the wounded operative. To him, Monteux urgently directed. "Send a transmission to Chadworth. Tell him that we are in a tight situation… and we may not make it out." The other nodded, his fear and pain showing through the reluctance of his movements. He pulled out the transmitter and sent a hasty message, cursing when the frost accumulated on the exposed wires, killing the machine. Monteux, undeterred, turned quickly, prepared to fight to the death. He clutched the trigger, ready to unleash a hail of lead, but the enemy had stopped firing; a situation that could prove worse than if they had continued the torrent. Monteux and his team were now on edge, their nerves on fire despite the subzero temperature and the chilling wind. They could not change their position for fear of falling into a trap. They could not contact anyone, as their communications were now disabled. They could only wait; either freeze to death, or be taken out one by one by the adversary.

Then, as if in answer to prayer, the storm began to ease off; the wind, though still fierce, lessened slightly, and the cloud layer started to open up. The blizzard began to dissipate, although visibility was still restricted up past a thousand feet. At first, Monteux was grateful that the blind of snow was disappearing. But what he was now able to see made his blood freeze…

They were near a huge ice column, an ice-coated stone tower that reached out from the ground for twenty feet, and expelled huge clouds of vapor that were immediately dissipated by the wind. _Smokestacks. Wonka _is_ here_. But it wasn't the confirmation of Wonka's presence that made him fear; it was the sight of a command post nestled in the center of the forest of columns… and the armored vehicles that emerged from it and were heading in the team's direction. Monteux nodded to his men, who set up 50 caliber rifles and took aim at the tanks. With an intense _BOOM_, each of the men fired off, piercing the vehicles' armor with six-inch bullets. Some of the rounds found the fuel tanks, causing the vehicles to explode in balls of flame. After the first tank was destroyed, however, all hell broke loose. Enemy snipers began to take out the 50s's operators with well-placed headshots. Monteux swore when he saw them go down. Reaching into his side bag, he pulled out a grenade. Enabling it, he threw it in the direction of the sniper fire. The resulting blast sent melted snow and miniature white-clad bodies up in a spectacular explosion. Monteux spun, now having seen what they were up against and feeling that finally the tables had turned. But further examination revealed that he was the only survivor of the sudden battle. His former team lay scattered about, the snow beneath their riddled bodies stained scarlet. Their vehicles, too, were demolished; he would have to return to McMurden on foot. He twisted around to look longingly back at the command post; they had finally found it, but he could not destroy it on his own. With a tired sigh, he lifted his weapon, and turned toward McMurden. But a single shot rang out through the frigid air. Monteux felt a sharp pain pierce his chest, and he looked down to see red liquid dripping from the wound. He fell to his knees, and looked up regretfully at the now-blue skies. _So close, yet so far away…_ As his body was going into shock, he did not hear the approaching footsteps of the surviving sniper Loompa, pistol extended, nor did he feel the killing shot that sent him to oblivion.

The orange glow cast by the sinking sun reflected oddly off the helicopter's sleek, black sides, reminding JR of a dramatic painting he had once seen in a museum. The work of art depicted a horrific battle scene in which fear, hate, and hope came to life through a broad range of oil paints and the artist's careful brushstrokes. These same feelings were roused in JR, filling him with tension as he stepped quickly across the tarmac, conscious of every passing moment. Vincent walked beside him, matching his nervous pace step for step. JR glanced at him, noting the grim determination in his brother's eyes. He had volunteered to lead troops into the heart of Antarctica, and vowed to avenge once and for all the deaths that Wonka had caused. JR tried to force down the unease that was rising in him, but he feared greatly for his brother. They would be risking many things in following through with the decision to make war in Antarctica; all the countries of the world had long ago made a pact that declared that Antarctica would remain a weapons-free zone; the penalty for breaking such an ancient pact could be dire. _But that rule has already been broken_. JR reminded himself, referring to the recent failure on the part of Captain Monteux and his men.

The recon team had confirmed Vincent's theory of the location of Wonka's hiding place. Though none of the men had returned, they had sent a single transmission through which JR's technicians were able to trace the origin. Using a GPS system, they pinpointed a large crevasse nestled in the heart of the great plateau that formed the heart of Antarctica, a secure location that was shielded from the eyes of the casual observer. But the Chadworths were no casual observers; their men had either been captured or killed in that hellhole; it had now become JR's sole desire to take revenge for his losses and even the score with Wonka.

He watched in interest as the sun made its descent past the horizon, observing the growing shadows that began to stretch across the ice. _It was almost time_. Wonka glanced behind him, checking to make sure that everything in the launching bay was ready to go. Finding everything satisfactory, he resumed his watch, gazing out of a reinforced window at the barren landscape. The sun dropped steadily; as soon as it had left the visible sky, the world turned dark, as if someone had snuffed out the lights. The only thing visible beyond the window were the faint, dusk-like glow of the sun that would remain just below the horizon for a whole season, and the glittering points of the stars. It was time. Wonka walked over to the control panels for the hangar, and input a command code. Instantly, Oompas dove into action, clearing the area. A giant panel in the ceiling slid back, revealing the dark sky. After a fifteen-second countdown, the rockets attached to the great craft in the center of the chamber began to expel smoke and flames, propelling it up from its resting place and into the reaches of space. Soon after this, two lesser rockets, providing thrust for vessels containing the first Oompa-astronauts, lifted off as well, soon becoming little more than bright specks against the black velvet of space. Wonka, gazing upward, grinned at the successful completion of the first launch. But there was still more to be done; the astronauts had yet to assemble and engage the Space Factory, and of course there was still more knowledge to be acquired through excessive studies. But for the moment, Wonka was satisfied with this accomplishment, knowing that someday, it would be vital to his survival.

The chopper's wheels touched down, coming to rest in the center of the oversized "H" that had been marked on the helipad. The two Chadworth brothers exited the vehicle, standing regally toward the side of the platform. Langford came to meet them, dignified in his posture, though he didn't seem too happy to be seeing JR again so soon. JR, wearing a livid expression, spoke. "Your men failed, Wes." Langford's face changed from a peach color to a deep red. But before he could explode and unleash his anger on JR, Vincent stepped in between them. "Yes, Langford," he said silkily, "Your men did fail. But that was not any fault of yours. No, not only did they play on an unfair field, but they were a small team fighting against the unpredictable." Langford seemed to calm upon hearing Vincent's soothing voice. But the reason he restrained himself was not because he needed coddling, but because he sensed the strength and cunning belying Vincent's tone. Upon further examination, Langford noted Vincent's imposing countenance and confident bearing. This was not a man he would be willing to meet in battle. Langford, suppressed by Vincent's presence, complied immediately, almost keenly when JR asked to assemble an army to be sent south. "Who will be leading them?" Langford asked, bitterly remembering that his close teammate Monteux had perished in the last venture against Wonka. JR glanced at his brother, who stepped forward. "I will." Langford gazed steadily at him, not doubting in any way that this man was qualified for the job. But he had to be sure. "Sir, with all due respect, I would have to refuse. You are, after all, the son of the founder of this organization. He hired us to serve him and his family… not for you to serve with us." Vincent had been smiling as he had come forward, but now his expression changed to a chilling glare. "Is there anyone else more qualified to lead his _own_ men into battle than someone who has gone up against the enemy once before?" Vincent drew a hidden blade and grappled Langford in a headlock in one swift motion. "I have led hundreds of men against impossible odds, Langford. I have killed, and have seen my men being killed before my very eyes, listening to their screams of terror and not being able to do anything about it. I have stalked my prey in darkness, in every extreme form of weather. How can you possibly tell me that I am not fit to lead?" He released the terrified Langford, who stumbled to the side, where he was borne up by an assistant. Vincent stood straight, and pointed to an aide. "You, assemble the troops, the maximum amount. I want them briefed and ready for action within the next thirty-six hours." The aide nodded, and dashed off to accomplish his directive. JR turned to Vincent. "Well handled, brother." Vincent nodded briskly. "Thanks. But I have been wondering. How are we going to get nearly three thousand men to Antarctica?" JR didn't reply, but instead motioned for Vincent to follow. They travelled up alongside the cavern wall using a system of ramps and platforms. When they had reached the highest point, JR turned and walked into a passageway that led out to the top of the cliffs which enclosed the fortress. The sun was at its apex, reflecting brightly off the ocean in the distance. JR pointed in the water's direction, and Vincent followed with his sight, shielding his eyes to lessen the glare. Anchored in the distance were three aircraft carriers, massive ships that were undeniably capable of causing extensive damage. Vincent nodded, his question having been answered. But even as he was agreeing with his brother, a dark thought crossed his mind. _What if even this is not enough to destroy Wonka? _JR smiled. "Would you like a closer look?"


	8. CH 8: A Cold War

**Sum: **The war rages at the bottom of the world!

**A/N** Reviews help us improve the writing skills. Help this story improve by leaving comments or critiques.

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><p><span>CH8: A Cold War<span>

"Tarawa-class amphibious assault ships," Langford recited mechanically as he, Vincent, and JR Chadworth walked down the expansive deck of the lead vessel. "Light carriers specialized for helicopter and VTOL transport. Length - 250 meters, beam - 32 meters, displacement fully loaded - just over 40,000 tons. These three were retired from the United States Navy two years ago...and I will not bother giving you the details as to how we acquired them. As per request, they have been completely stripped and rebuilt from the keel up. We've outfitted them with extra armament and replaced the standard boilers with miniaturized Chadworth Industries fission reactors for additional horsepower at the props and an increased top speed. With modifications, there is a slight loss in cargo capacity, but nothing too severe. Standard transport capacity is 1,900 Marines; with modifications, is cut down to 1,500..."  
>Vincent glanced sideways at JR as they walked. "I always knew Dad had...connections...but do I even want to know how you found about all this?"<br>"No."

The next forty-eight hours were a hectic rush of activity. Leaving Vincent to supervise, JR spent most of the time in his quarters deep in the belly of the fortress, willing this nightmare to finally be over. Fate willing, Wonka would soon be annihilated, and there would be no further competition. _Competition hell_, JR thought, _I would be willing to sacrifice the company...if only I could get back to some semblance of life rather than hiding underground in a cement bunker for the rest of my days. Life under siege_. He found himself wondering if this was at all how Hitler felt at the end, sequestered under Berlin as the Soviet Army closed in on him. He shook his head at the thought...comparing himself to Hitler. Hitler was a madman who slaughtered millions...he deserved his fate...all JR Chadworth had ever tried to do was produce a good-quality candy bar. _The universe wasn't fair_.

"My Fuhrer," Wonka turned from the long stainless-steel table where the recovered equipment of Chadworth's men had been spread out. "The only possible origin for that strike team is McMurden Base, the international research facility." He hesitated. "Sir, we have troops in position for an immediate strike...if you wish it." Wonka cupped his chin thoughtfully in one hand, considering the Loompa's words...and wishing he had an Everlasting Gobstopper right about now. He would have to go upstairs and get one in a minute. His eyes narrowed as he considered. "There was no way they could have transmitted their location?" "No, sir. Highly unlikely. The storm would certainly have knocked out all but the most resilient equipment; even we are having problems, sir, and with vastly superior hardware. I'm all but certain..." "But you don't know for sure..." "No, My Fuhrer. Nevertheless we are well protected from all but the most intensive search, and I doubt the science teams at McMurden have anything approaching tactical competency. Even if they do, they are unlikely to voyage out into such a tempest." Willy nodded. "Keep your forces in position for now, but don't engage. Alert me if there are any changes." "Yes, my Fuhrer."

The storm's initial fury lasted for two weeks...two tense weeks. Regular surveillance of McMurden continued around the clock, but there was not much to report. As expected, McMurden's population seemed to be entirely civilian; between the storm's freezing temperatures and their confidence that they were alone, the research facility did not have so much as a guard detail. A few small groups occasionally floundered outside to perform essential maintenance; once, a rather larger detail went out on what appeared to be a search for Monteux's missing team of "scientists," but they did not make it far. And, meanwhile, Chadworth's three ships steamed southward.

Vincent paced the bridge like a caged animal, Langford's eyes tracking his every movement. It could hardly be said that the two had improved their relationship during the journey...it was rather like putting two large and deadly predators together in the same cage. But at least they cooperated, and that was the only thing that mattered. No one was here to make friends...there was a war to win. Vincent stopped and glared again at one of the huge plasma screens set into the walls of the ship's bridge. This one seemed to show a huge swirling mural in a variety of colors: temperature zones, wind speeds, and thermal gradients. He spoke to the ship's commander without turning his head. "Tell me again." The captain, looking nervous, stepped up beside Vincent and gestured to the screen. "Y-yes, sir. The storm system has been continuing for almost a month now with no significant decreases in strength. Virtually all of Antarctica is submerged in what has come to be termed a 'white out,' in which constant blizzard conditions interrupt operations for months at a time." "But radar has picked up a clear spot?" "Yes, sir. The problem is that it won't last long. In approximately three hours, the storm will clear over a section of the coast here." The captain placed a finger on the screen, and in response, the map zoomed in to indicate an area of jagged coastline not far from McMurden Base. "The resulting calm will extend inland to the operational zone for approximately thirty-six hours, though it should be noted that the target zone itself will not be entirely clear. The problem is that, even at flank speed, we are still twenty-seven hours from the Antarctic coast. Assuming we begin mobilization and vehicle prep now, ground forces can be fully fueled and armed on arrival. Due to the ice shelf, however, we cannot use conventional landing craft. All units will have to be airlifted ashore, which will take at least another four hours. All in all, you will only have eight hours to reach the target, eliminate resistance, and investigate the facility before return to the ship." "Cutting it close," Langford remarked. Vincent nodded, and a smile played around one corner of his mouth. "Won't be the first time. And if we have to, my men and I will stay behind." Vincent turned to the captain, who quailed before Chadworth's gaze. "Captain, I do not intend to leave without Wonka's secrets. Assuming evac isn't possible, when will you get another opportunity?" "At least another month, sir." Langford's face suddenly split into a callous smile. "With nothing but Wonka's candies to eat, better pack some fluoride rinse."

For the first time in weeks, cold light burst over the Antarctic coast. The storm was still there, a distant wall of white, like clouds on the horizon...but, this morning; it did not stop the dawn. Dr. Jensen awoke early and went out to the top of the rise overlooking McMurden, able to stand outside on his own feet for the first time in a week without being blown over. Despite his polarized goggles, he still shielded his eyes with one hand as he looked up...the sun was an alien thing, no longer round but a feathery, shifting thing which extended delicate tendrils of pure white...though the storm had cleared at ground level, a layer of icy clouds still turned the sky a strange color, more white than blue. But any dawn was welcome...soon the sun would disappear, and remain invisible for six months of inky blackness. Then throw a storm like this one into the mix...Jensen lowered his eyes and shivered. Sometimes he wondered what he had been thinking when he came down here. A place like this, well, there were a lot of men who just couldn't handle it. An entire continent of nothing but frozen wastes and jagged peaks, beyond the reach of creature comforts like McDonald's and Starbucks; indeed, beyond the reach of all modern civilization. Some who came down here ended up going more than slightly nuts...they claimed that voices spoke to them in the howling winds, or that they could see things in the blowing snow. Jensen laughed to himself. At least he wasn't seeing things yet...and then the smile froze on his face, along with some spit. He was seeing things; after all...he had to be.  
>Jensen had never before timed the fastest speed that someone could make it from the top of the hill back to the main complex...while running through almost hip-deep snow. If there had been such an Olympic category, though, he would have wagered good money that he would be a gold medal champion. Throwing open the door to his quarters, he tore through his belongings in search of his field binoculars. The moment that he found them, he was back outside and already tearing back up the hill, having ignored the concerned looks on the faces of several drowsy-headed colleagues and a loud exclamation of "What the hell?" from Michelson, whom he had almost run into head-on in the corridor. Jensen was either losing his mind...or else there was something afoot bigger than any other operation in the history of Antarctica...reaching the crest of the ridge, Jensen squinted to make sure...Well, he couldn't have been completely insane, because they were still there. Tearing the lens caps of off his binoculars, he increased magnification and looked out to sea...where three carriers were docked in close formation. He was hardly an expert in ship classes, but they looked somewhat smaller and rather more heavily armed than the regular US Navy carriers...as he watched, huge hatches along the flank of the nearest ship opened, and a series of platforms slid out, each bearing a gigantic gun turret...they couldn't be Navy, because Jensen had never before heard of a Navy carrier that could match the broadside firepower of a battleship.<br>"What's...gotten...into...you?" panted Tomlinson from behind him, having clearly donned his gear and run up the hill behind Jensen in a rush. "What was all tha..." His words trailed off, and Jensen glanced over to see him pointing, not out to sea but at the shoreline, where dozens of black objects were moving about. Jensen redirected the binoculars...men scurried everywhere around the dark bulky shapes of tanks and armored personnel carriers, while helicopters cut through the skies overhead, clearly relaying forces from the ships offshore. A continuous line of transports set down and offloaded troops, interspersed with heavy equipment lifters, most likely Sikorskys, the bulk of their armored charges hanging beneath their skeletal frames. More choppers, Cobra gunships from the look of them, flew circles around the debarking forces, clearly on combat patrol. "Think we should call someone?" Tomlinson said.

Vincent was unable to suppress a grin as he stepped off the Chinook. _Now I know how it feels to be a general_, he thought. Reaching the bottom of the ramp, he stood off to one side as another thirty soldiers disembarked, rushing down the ramp; rifles at the ready. Behind them, somewhat more leisurely, came four of his personal team. The Malay fighters carried themselves differently than the grunts, simultaneously more relaxed...and far more deadly. Other than pistols, they did not weight themselves down with cumbersome firearms; their weapons were hidden beneath the white insulated jumpsuits that also doubled as their body armor, far less restrictive than the bulky parkas and Kevlar vests of the rest of the men. Vincent was glad there would still be a bit of a storm awaiting them when they reached Wonka's base; nature's cover was all that his men would need.

Vincent keyed the special satellite phone that would connect him with JR, far back in distant England. His brother answered on the first ring, his phone mechanical and distorted through the electronic scrambler that would prevent the call from being intercepted or traced. "Is everything on schedule?" "Yes," Vincent replied, "We're on the ground. Wonka should be an unpleasant memory by nightfall." "Excellent. And Vincent?" "Yes." "Do be careful. I don't have to tell you who we're dealing with." "No. Just keep the phone close. I will call you the moment Wonka is dead."

Wonka was uneasy. It was just as luck would have it; though the storm had abated somewhat, it still had not cleared. And it had opened a path inland from the coast almost to Willy's front door...Wonka thought about performing a pagan ritual to invoke the gods of weather, but decided against it. Instead, he pressed the communicator button on the arm of his chair. "Are the additional guard teams in place?" A Loompa's tinny voice came back through the speaker. "Yes, my Fuhrer. Defense nets on the southwest side have been doubled. Nothing's getting in without us knowing it." "Very good." Wonka clicked off the speaker, but he still could not shake the feeling gnawing at him. He knew what was troubling him: how had Chadworth figured out where he was? Even assuming the current clear spot passed without incident, the storms and the darkness would not last forever. Chadworth had gotten one squad down here; he would send another...and another. Thank heaven for the space base...given Chadworth's usual tactics, the moment the weather cleared next spring, he would probably flood the whole of Antarctica with mercenaries. But it was more than just the usual threat bothering Willy, and he knew it. He had managed to corner Chadworth financially, but he still had not won the fight. And while Chadworth might be afraid to come out of his house, if he was really honest with himself, so was Willy Wonka. Though he had control over so much, all of his technology and all of his loyal servants still did not make him invincible..He had been driven to the southern extremity of the globe already, and unless he brought an end to this, he would be driven into space. What then? Where else would he have to run? He tried to dismiss the thought. "You're not going to run anymore, Willy," he said aloud to himself. "You're going to fight...and you're going to win." After all, what could Chadworth do to him in space? If Willy thought himself as NATO, then Chadworth was definitely the Soviet Union. Chadworth had brute force on his side, Willy had technology. And the howling void of space was one spot Wonka was pretty sure Chadworth could not follow.

The communicator buzzed again. "What is it?" Wonka demanded. "I'm right in the middle of a conversation with myself!" "Apologies, my Fuhrer, but we have lost contact with one of the remote sensor arrays in the southwest quadrant. We are dispatching a squad to investigate." Wonka felt the beginning of a chill, but it was countered by the heat of angry resolve. "Were there any readings before it went down?" "No, my Fuhrer. Signal just went dead." Wonka stood up from his chair. "Recall the investigative team and send all forces to the southwest quadrant." He switched frequencies. "Launch Control, get all ships fueled and prepped for departure. I think we may need them."

The monitoring post had gone down easily; a quick flash of laser light from the designator, a single artillery shell from one of the ships, and the concealed sensor tower had been reduced to scrap. Probability said it had not yet identified them...but then again probability was frequently wrong. Vincent felt himself tensing as the armored convoy neared its destination. Ahead, the storm front rose, an angry gray wall. The veil behind which Wonka waited. Suddenly, there was the loud shriek of rocket exhaust, and a column of fire erupted from the nose of the lead tank. "RPG!" Men threw themselves to the ground as another cloud of smoke blossomed from the top of the adjacent ridge, and another deadly projectile skimmed over the snow toward its target. The damaged Chieftain main battle tank sluggishly attempted to reverse out of the way, avoiding a direct hit; a gigantic plume of snow erupted just off the vehicle's front left quarter, and water droplets from the flash-melted ice rained down over the soldiers. By now, rifle fire cracked from everywhere as every mercenary in the front half of the column attempted to find and eliminate the rocket gunner's position. Snow kicked up everywhere around the source of the missiles...and then Vincent reached down into the cupola of his APC and brought up a Kalashnikov sniper rifle. He was about to make his first kill...in the battle he had been awaiting his whole life. He brought the scope to his eye and trained it in on the enemy position, quickly identifying the two Oompa-Loompa missile crew. One gunner, one spotter. They were well camouflaged in full white, running along the top of the ridge...Vincent squeezed the trigger, and the first Loompa fell from a clean headshot. Quickly cycling the rifle's bolt, he again raised it...to see the second Loompa raising the launcher. "A little game of quick-draw," Vincent thought, "only I'm faster." Another loud crack, and the second Wonka soldier tumbled, involuntarily discharging the rocket launcher as he fell. The missile shrieked off into the sky, soaring over the column and detonating against the face of the opposite ridge. "Two for me," Vincent said aloud. He clicked on his radio, contacting Langford in the lead tank. "What is your status?" "Some damage, nothing too serious. I'm still combat-worthy." "Roger that. Let's keep moving."

"My Fuhrer, perimeter teams have reported an armored convoy moving in our direction, at least fifty vehicles. There can be no doubt..." "Chadworth." Willy finished the sentence for him. Willy's eyes met those of his commanders. "All right, my plan is simple. All available forces are to go kill the enemy. Simple and easy, right?"

Willy watched from the operations center with pride. He had never before seen such a mobilization of his forces. He had also never heard so many alerts going off at once, which was due in part to the fact that he had gone to the main operations panel and switched on every warning siren he could find. It was innocent curiosity, really; he had never seen what would happen if someone threw all the switches at once. Klaxons blared, strobe lights flashed, Oompa-loompas ran in every direction as his army geared up for combat. It was inspiring really, though..."With all respect, my Fuhrer, can I turn off the radiation warning? It's started a mass panic in engineering." "Oh, all right, then," Willy said with a huff, "I've just never had the chance to turn it on before." He made his way through operations to the tactical ops center; a huge amphitheater-like room lined by dozens of Loompa-manned control stations. The entire far wall was one huge tactical screen showing multiple feeds from ground and air surveillance, creating a single panoramic map of the area. On the far left side of the screen, Chadworth's armor units were just coming into view. "Here we go," Wonka said.

The column entered the storm at last. Clear sunlight gave way to swirling drifts of snow and a pale white sky. The wind whipped at the vehicles, but Vincent knew this was nothing compared to the gales that had blown through this area a few days before. This was gentle enough to allow helicopters to land, albeit with difficulty; thirty hours previously, any aircraft stupid or unlucky enough to be caught in the hurricane-force winds would most certainly be destroyed.

Slogging along at the head of the column, Tyson Borz pulled his parka a bit tighter against the bite of the wind-driven snow. Next to him, Meyer was, as usual, complaining. "Damn it, I can't see a thing in this!" "You couldn't see a thing if it were 80 degrees and the sun was shining," Borz replied. "The day you actually manage to hit something without sprayin' ten thousand rounds, I'll sell my house and become a Catholic nun." "Yeah, well apparently I can't be any worse than you, 'cause we both got picked for this, so shut your..." Meyer's words stopped short with a sort of gagging cough, and Borz looked over to see a crimson stain spreading from the neck of Meyer's parka. He may not have liked the man, but even still...another round kicked up snow next to Borz's boot, and a third struck the unfortunate Meyer again, killing him with a shot through the head. Cursing, Borz keyed his radio. "CONTACT! WE HAVE CONTACT!" Raising his Steyr AUG, he blindly opened fire in the general direction of the shots, his fire being redoubled as the other troops opened up as well.

"This is it!" Vincent said into his radio. "All units, break and attack!" The convoy instantly split, not wanting to give Wonka's forces an easy target. The lead tank turned and headed up the hill to the left, its main cannon opening up with a thunderous roar. The crest of the rise disappeared in a blast of ice, and several white-clad corpses flew. Seizing his weapons, Vincent threw himself down from the top of his personnel carrier and ran forward on foot, the silent white-clad figures of his men behind him. Automatic fire rang out on all sides as the mercenaries approached the top of the gentle slope just ahead; muzzle flashes lit up the top of the rise, and several rounds kicked up the snow under Vincent's running feet. Throwing himself to the side, he raised the Kalashnikov and cycled three quick shots...three dead Loompas fell in the snow, blood gushing. Throwing himself up the slope, Vincent reached the top of the rise to find...it was exactly as he had hoped. The rise fell off sharply, a slope of hard-packed snow and ice descending down into a wide but deep crevasse that held what could only be Wonka's factory. There was not terribly much to be seen above ground level, but Vincent could tell that the huge pinnacles which towered from the floor of the icy canyon were not natural formations. Certainly not with steam pouring from their tips...ahead and below lay a huge force of enemies; not just regular Loompa infantry but also power-armored heavy soldiers, aerial drones, and Wonka's own special variant of tank, large vehicles floating over the snow on a series of powerful blower fans, which churned up miniature snowstorms beneath their hulls.

The merc army plowed forward down the ridge, both Chadworth's and Wonka's tanks firing on the move. Several shells detonated around one of the hover tanks, throwing up snow; one finally found home, and the vehicle erupted in a fiery blast. Meanwhile, Wonka's armor opened up with pencil-thin beams from what could only have been a high-intensity laser; one of the narrow streaks sliced vertically up the hull of one of the mercs' Chieftains, and the vehicle crashed apart, cut in half up the centerline. Another lanced across the turret of an armored personnel carrier, and the vehicle shuddered as the ammunition supply for the heavy .50-caliber went off spontaneously. The rear hatch burst open and soldiers threw themselves out as ricochets bounced around the compartment, cutting through men and equipment alike. "We have to neutralize those tanks!" Vincent bellowed into his radio. "Already on it," came Langford's voice, as calm and cold as ever. Thirty Chieftains wheeled around as one and formed a firing line, tracks skidding slightly on patches of ice. As one they fired, raining a salvo of death down upon the forty or more Wonka tanks now rumbling forward into the battle. A third of the hovering units exploded in flame and shrapnel; another had several shells detonate underneath its hull, knocking out its forward lift units and sending it plowing nose-first into the ice. Now that the mercenary forces were closer, the enemy tanks revealed a secondary weapon as well; hatches opened, and Loompas emerged from the tops of the turrets, manning heavy anti-infantry machine guns. Explosive jawbreakers flew everywhere, cutting down hapless infantry left and right. The Wonka tanks opened up with their lasers, sweeping the merc lines; the heavy armor along the Chieftain's flanks, originally intended to protect the vehicles against mines, now proved to be tougher than the Loompa gunners had thought. Though molten gouges were ripped in the heavy titanium, only one of the vehicles was outright destroyed as two lasers converged and caught its rear fuel tank. The Chieftains fired again, shattering another five of the Wonka tanks.  
>Between the lines of armor, another battle was being fought between the infantry squads. Quickly gunning down the closest line of Oompa-loompas, the mercenaries threw themselves over the barricades to find themselves in a trench system that had been dug across the width of the crevasse. Unfortunately, the trenches were dug to Loompa-scale height; as the mercenaries ran along, following the trenches to the next pocket of resistance, they made their entire heads and upper bodies splendid targets for Loompa snipers. Rifles cracked, and men fell. But there was one thing the Loompas had not been counting on: Vincent's men. Like wraiths they came, waiting for the most opportune moments to strike; a sudden blinding flurry of snow swept across a rifle pit housing a Loompa squad, and when their vision had cleared, Wonka's soldiers suddenly found half of their comrades dead. Turning involuntarily in shock at the sight of their fellows, their throats seemingly cut by the invisible knife of the wind...the Loompas only picked up a blur of movement as another ghost threw itself into their midst. A knife flashed, and blood twirled and arced in the air behind it; rifles were aimed, only to be wrenched from hands. Tripping over the body of his sergeant as it fell, the final Loompa pulled the pin on a fragmentation grenade...only to find that he was no longer holding it. "Now that's not very nice," said the strangely-accented voice of the white ghost as it loomed over him. Then the figure was gone...but not before dropping the grenade back into the pit.<p>

Vincent moved forward through the chaos, his men intermittently flanking him and rushing off to destroy another nest of enemies. He was unconcerned. He had learned to trust them. If he needed protection, they would...somehow...appear. Even working with them as long as he had, he still marveled at their speed, their ferocity, and their uncanny ability to disappear into the environment. And Vincent, meanwhile, was wreaking his own havoc. Clearly Wonka had the advantage in numbers, both in armor and infantry; a Wonka drone streaked overhead and exploded as it met with a shell from one of the Chieftain tanks. Meanwhile, Vincent was more concerned about the heavy Loompa armored troopers; he reached the far side of the trench network to find a dozen of the huge power armors keeping at least forty of his own men pinned down behind cover. He contacted Langford. "If you have a moment, I could use some fire on the left flank!" "Roger that." The whine of incoming shells cut the air, and plumes of fire and ice shot skyward, blasting mechs off their feet. One machine struggled to stand; Vincent raised the Kalashnikov and put a round through the neck joint. The machine shuddered once and collapsed, and the mercs again pressed forward. His sniper rifle empty, Vincent slung it over his back and pulled up his other special piece for this mission: a heavily-customized M-16, loaded with armor-piercing rounds. A dozen Loompas came from the right, escorting a tank; the Wonka vehicle sprayed its laser across a dozen merc infantry, and they fell in the blink of an eye. The whine of an incoming shell prompted Vincent to duck, and the hover tank exploded spectacularly, throwing its protectors to the ground. Vincent ripped into them as they stood, quick three-round bursts dropping the Loompas in pools of their own frozen blood. _I almost feel sorry for the little guys,_ Vincent thought.

"My Fuhrer, they are advancing from the west, pushing us back. They're approaching the main stack cluster, preparing to..." The rest of the transmission was cut off in a loud explosion and a crackle of static. "Come in, Blue Leader, this is Command." One of the Loompa operations officer tapped fruitlessly on his headset. "Blue Leader..." He looked at Wonka and shook his head. The Oompa-Loompa operations chief, standing beside Wonka, now gestured to the screen. "It doesn't look good, My Fuhrer. The enemy armor is proving much tougher than anticipated. We're losing tanks as fast as we're losing men. I recommend we pull back our remaining strength and attempt to defend the main stack cluster. We'll have the advantage of cover, as well as the strength of several mounted artillery pieces. If we can't hold them there..." "Do it," Wonka said, "and will someone get me a cup of hot cocoa? I don't know why, but that sounds like the greatest thing right now..."

"I think we've got 'em beat!" one of the mercs cried triumphantly. The remaining Wonka tanks, roughly a dozen, turned and headed quickly away toward the east. Behind them trailed the surviving Loompa infantry, falling back by squads as they exchanged fire with their pursuers. Plowing over the trenches, the Chadworth armor battalion pulled up and formed a defensive square. Langford's Chieftain stopped beside Vincent. The hatch opened and the merc commander emerged, wearing a smile that sent a shadow of a chill even over the hardened Chadworth; this must have been Langford's "I'm having fun" look. "What do you think?" Langford asked. "Will they retreat?" "I doubt it," Vincent replied. "They're genetically-conditioned for subservience; they'll willingly die in Wonka's service rather than risk his displeasure. If they're falling back, then they probably have a defensive plan in mind. I'd recommend four tanks out front, probing for hazards, the rest behind..." "...Followed by APCs and infantry in the rear," Langford finished. "You know, Mr. Chadworth, I think you and I would actually work well together..." "...If we didn't detest each other with a vengeance," Vincent concluded. "Exactly!" Langford said with a cold laugh, and he retreated back into the turret of his vehicle.  
>Four Chieftains moved to the front of the group, a generous distance ahead of the rest of the armor, which had formed a solid battle line. In the very rear came the infantry, using the heavy vehicles as mobile cover. A few shots from Loompa snipers rang out as the column advanced; most of these rounds missed their intended targets...and cost the snipers dearly. Ahead lay the main bulk of the huge forest of smokestacks...checking his GPS out of interest, Vincent found that this was very nearly the exact spot that Captain Monteux and his men had met their demise. <em>Just one more about to be avenged<em>...

Vincent had returned his empty sniper rifle to the equipment rack of one of the armored personnel carriers, but he did not need a scope to see the sudden movement around the base of the stacks ahead. Figures stood in unison and tanks emerged from concealment behind the gigantic exhaust vents; objects suddenly appeared in the front of the line, being suddenly revealed from beneath camouflage nets...at least six rockets streaked at once from the Loompa defense line, ripping into the lead group of tanks and blasting two of the vehicles to pieces. Another was immobilized, its tracks disabled, and it made for an easy target for the follow-up volley. Machine guns opened up from around the base of the stacks as well; dodging rockets, the mercenaries' armor scattered, and the infantry were forced to remain behind the vehicles in order to avoid the deadly barrage of projectiles. Vincent and his four guards ran alongside one of the Chieftains, hearing the heavy caliber shells ping off the vehicle's far side and feeling hot bits of singed candy burn on any exposed flesh. Exploiting the low snowy rises which covered the crevasse floor, the merc army managed to find cover. But they were now pinned down, unable to move. Vincent switched frequencies and shouted into his radio, struggling to make himself heard over the din of both sides' fire. Tank shells and bullets slammed into the sides of the enormous vent stacks; their layers of hard-packed ice, however, protected them better than armor. Other than showering the Loompas below with powder, there was little effect. "Captain, this is Chadworth!" Vincent shouted. "I need support fire, roughly three hundred meters east of this position! " He clicked on his personal homing beacon. "Do you copy position, over?" Vincent pressed the radio to his ear. "Affirmative. I have you on screens. Support fire inbound. Stand by." There was a pause of several seconds, and then a massive explosion erupted at the top of the canyon lip. Another detonated on the crevasse floor, showering a Chieftain tank with snow and ice, while another series hit and exploded around the Wonka lines. None of them, however, had done any damage. "Any way we can tighten up that spread?" "Negative," the captain's voice came back. "You're at the very edge of artillery range. We'll have to switch to missile batteries. Can you give me a laser target?" "Negative! We're pinned down! You'll have to go off heat sources!" "Roger. Hold position and keep your head down." Perhaps twenty seconds passed...and then the scream of rockets cut the air. Heat sources...Vincent realized the mistake in an instant. Programmed to go after the largest heat source in a given area, the carriers' missiles ignored Wonka's troops entirely and instead homed in on the exhaust stacks...the first missile hit the side of one of the huge spires near the top, and the structure instantly erupted into an avalanche of falling ice and concrete. The mercenaries cheered as tons of debris fell, crushing a tank and several squads of Loompas clustered around the stack's base. Sections of the other smokestacks shattered and fell as well, with similar effects. It was not quite what Vincent had had in mind...but it worked. "Keep firing! Full spread!" Additional rockets streaked overhead and detonated, throwing hundreds more tons of rubble down on Wonka's forces and cutting off their escape routes; after a solid five minutes of shelling, the entire forest of stacks had collapsed into mountains of broken concrete. Only a few shell-shocked Oompa-Loompas remained, firing their rifles in a valiant but doomed effort...another round of fire from the Chieftains, and the area ahead lay quiet and still. The way to Wonka was clear.


	9. CH 9: Hunted

**Sum: **Brutal battles blaze in blizzards.

**A/N** Reviews help us improve the writing skills. Help this story improve by leaving comments or critiques.

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><p><span>CH9: HUNTED<span>

The wind had picked up considerably following the pocket of calm, and Jensen shivered in discomfort and unease as the frigid wind buffeted his coat. Tomlinson stood rigidly beside him, seemingly oblivious to the cold. Having appropriated his companion's binocs, he panned his gaze across the ice in an effort to follow the slow progression of the unwelcome convoy from the shore. He cursed when the gale resumed, replacing the blind of snow. Lowering the device, he turned to Jensen, who flashed him a questioning glance. "Well?" Tomlinson shook his head, sending accumulated ice particles flying into the wind. "No idea. But I don't like the looks of those tanks. They're not heading toward McMurden, but still… we _need_ to call someone." Jensen gave a hiss of frustration, releasing a thick cloud of vapor that was dissipated in the harsh wind. "Are you forgetting? The storm has resumed. All communications will be down, and are liable to be so for the next few weeks! Whether we're out here in the storm, or nestled securely inside McMurden's communication center, we're sitting ducks!" Tomlinson cast a troubled glance in the direction that the armored vehicles had disappeared, but nodded his acceptance of this morbid detail. "Well, sitting ducks or not, we should get out of this blizzard, before it grows any worse. This weather is going to freeze my–" His complaint was cut short as series of low rumblings reached them; sounding as if a small-scale war was going on in the distance. Tomlinson cast Jensen a bewildered look. "What was that?" The other didn't answer audibly, but gave a small shrug as he descended the snowy hill, slowing only enough to allow the other, who was struggling against the heightening drifts, to catch up with him. He tried to qualm the slow fear that was developing inside him. The thunderous noise could have been any one of a number of things; a volcano erupting, or icebergs breaking off into the ocean… just because he had seen a convoy of armored vehicles passing by for unknown purposes didn't mean there was a battle going on somewhere. _Now there's an insane argument_, he thought chidingly to himself.

Vincent glanced apathetically at his wounded victims, knowing that the lives of the weakly struggling Oompa guards were soon to be claimed by the hostile environment. Already their bodies were encrusted in frozen blood… their blood. Soon, they too would be little more than one of the many "sculptures" that would be preserved by a casing of ice, and would forever lie in this desolate battlefield. Vincent moved on, his eagerness to reach Wonka unimpeded by the worsening weather or the clash with Wonka's defenses. _If these are the strongest of Wonka's forces, then it will be an easy matter to destroy him. _He pulled out his radio. "The way is clear. Converge on the Command Center immediately." There was a hiss of static, then Langford's voice came through. "Roger. All forces headed your way."

The collection of infantry and vehicles formed a perimeter around the base, all weapons trained in case the enemy decided to pull a last effort attack. But no rounds were fired, leaving the army of thousands free to disembark from their vehicles and penetrate the factory. Langford exited the tank, thankful for being able to move freely about, but wary for danger… they had gotten this far, but not without having to sacrifice lives. He glanced upwards, shielding his face from the torrent of snow particles that seemed to instantaneously collect on the lenses of his mask. _Is this what Monteux had experienced before meeting his end? _Pushing away the memories of his deceased comrade, Langford stepped over to a cluster of soldiers that had exited their vehicles as well; they now stood about casually, examining the adversary's base from afar. "What's going on?" His gruff voice clearly unnerved the men, a group of younger recruits who were getting their first taste of war as a result of this venture. The tallest of them answered, "The enemy isn't firing, sir. Thermal scans show that there are none of them on its perimeter, nor are there any within firing range. They're up to something." This simple revelation sent a chill down Langford's already cold spine. But he didn't let it show; instead, he laughed, causing the men around him to inch away slowly. "What makes you say that?" he asked grimly. "Surely the enemy knows when he is beaten. We have him cornered. He has nowhere to turn to now." The soldier who had answered nodded uneasily, although it was clear that he privately disagreed. Langford turned from the group, straining to see through the frigid mist that had thickened in a matter of moments. "Were you looking for me?" The sudden voice startled him greatly, and he nearly cried out in surprise when Vincent emerged from behind him. "Where were you?" he asked, using indignation to cover his astonishment. "Clearing out the last of the external security detail. They put up a pretty good fight for such small creatures." Langford gave a grunt of disgust, but nodded, reluctantly remembering the damages they had sustained. "Now, for the task at hand." Vincent looked directly at Langford as he spoke. "From the looks of the surrounding area, we can surmise that the majority of Wonka's complex lies below ground. His factory must be massive, judging from the distance between those spires… based on this supposition, I believe we must send in all the firepower we have to completely wipe out all resistance." Langford's eyes grew dark with battle-hungry desire. "As you command, sir." Langford withdrew his radio, and keyed in the command. Instantly, all the men emerged from the shelter of their transports and came as one against the command center.

Thus began a period of carnage that commenced as soon as Langford and his men entered the command center, in which the armies of Chadworth invaded Wonka's underground dominion and began to slaughter all in sight. Thousands of civilian oompas were destroyed in the same manner that the Bucket family had been destroyed years before, hardly putting up any resistance against the well trained mercenaries and their cold-hearted leaders. The army had to split up, though, in order to scout the whole of Wonka's subterranean labyrinth and ensure that Wonka himself did not escape. It would be this action, however, that would cost Langford his life.

The darkened hallway gave evidence that Wonka had engaged some sort of lockdown sequence; orange lights set into the wall flashed intermittently, giving the place an otherworldly feeling. Langford surveyed his surroundings, first looking back at his team, a selection of well-trained men, then turning to gaze suspiciously into the shadowy corridor. He distrusted the shadows…that was probably why there was enmity between him and Vincent, who seemed to exhibit the traits of a shadow-wraith. But such differences were pointless tidbits at this moment in time. Langford gestured to his squad, and together they donned their night vision goggles, their sight turning to bright green, allowing them means by which to navigate as they began to proceed down the passageway.

They walked together in a tight formation, wary for danger, their weapons raised and safety off. But all that they encountered were abandoned work stations, scattered crates, and the same lifeless corridors, with nothing changing except the flickering emergency light. One man turned to Langford, clearly unnerved by the lack of resistance. "I don't think I can take much more of this… I would rather confront my enemy face-on than play hide-and-seek with him." Langford grunted, sympathizing with the feeling. "Well, at least we're all still here," another soldier chirped nervously, in an effort to calm himself and his companions. "Yeah, at least–" "AAAAUGH!" The cry came from the rear of the group, and they turned to see that the man in the end of the line was now little more than a few spatters of blood on the ground. Horrified, they came closer together, trying in vain to pinpoint the source of the attacker. "Where'd he go?" one terrified trooper asked, fear tingeing his voice. Langford did not answer for fear that his own growing anxiety would show. He walked forward, his men following closely behind. There was the sound of cracking, and he looked down to see that his foot had crushed a tiny pair of glasses, that had probably been dropped in panic. Their eyes directed on the ground now, Langford and his men proceeded to explore the chamber, examining the floor for clues as to where they were in relation to Wonka's factory, and who their attacker could have been. The articles they found were of little interest: a clipboard, scattered papers inscribed with tiny handwriting, a miniature smock, and a handful of stale popcorn. But one trooper called for Langford, the apprehension in his voice revealing the possible importance of his discovery. Langford drew near to the trooper, finding it difficult to maneuver in the darkness despite his assisted vision. "What did you find?" He glanced to the trooper, who pointed toward a large, cylindrical container. Langford surveyed the glass tank, noting its shattered side and the puddle of water that he assumed had originated from within the vat. The trooper examined the damage and glanced at Langford. "Damn. I wonder how that happened. You don't suppose they had any of those 'experiment' things, do you? Like on _Alien_?" Langford gave no reply, but was reminded of why he preferred to work with veterans; the impudence of youth gave him no end of irritation. But still, he did find it odd that this container had been broken. Surely, none of Wonka's staff would go around destroying their life's work? The group had gathered around to view the damaged receptacle, and the men were now exchanging confused glances. Abruptly, their looks of confusion changed to expressions of horror, as the sound of laughter reached their ears… evil laughter. It seemed to come from all around, echoing eerily off the walls of the spacious chamber. Frenetically, the troops formed a circle, with their backs to the center, and scanned the darkness for the source of the sound. Then, from within the broken container, emerged one-foot tall creatures that reminded Langford of gummy bears. He drew in a sharp breath as recognition set in on him; he had heard that Chadworth's factory had been destroyed by creatures like these… from the salvage crew that had found an undamaged security tape that had captured the entire battle between Wonka's scourge of living gelatin and Langford's fellow men. With sinking hope, he knew that if these were the same kind of bears, then there would be no safety for him and his men. As the bears came into the open, Langford directed his men. "OPEN FIRE!" together, they blasted the accursed bears with a hail of bullets, tearing holes through them and sending gelatin fragments flying in every direction. But after just a few seconds after they ceased fire, chaos ensued. Bears came flooding from every nook and cranny in the hall, their wicked laughs and sheer numbers making them seem like a horde of demons to the terrified soldiers. In their panic, the trapped troops emptied countless rounds into the tide of possessed candy… only to run out of ammo. When the clicking of empty guns began, the gummy bears rose up, and virtually buried Langford and his troops, who screamed in terror and excruciating pain as they met their end under the carpet of candy. Once they had sufficiently finished the intruders, the wave of bears dispersed, returning to their hiding places to lie in wait for another hapless group to stumble upon their area.

Vincent had entered the compound with a group of his elites and one thing in mind: find and destroy Wonka. He was unwilling to allow his mind any rest until then; he could rest when his enemy was dead, and so would not be able to haunt him in his nightmares. But when he entered one particular chamber, he found himself caught off guard, taken aback by the wonderment of what he was seeing. They were standing on the edge of a grassy glade, which was surrounded by odd-colored trees and shrubs of all shapes and sizes. The sound of a waterfall thundered in the distance, and Vincent was able to glimpse the curving shape of a river winding through the grassy plain. _But how was this possible, a river underground and trees and grass in Antarctica?_ He took an involuntary whiff, and noted that the air smelled sweeter here. In fact, it smelled like chocolate. He glanced at his men, who had apparently noticed the strangeness of this room as well. Nodding, he signaled for them to sweep through the chamber, eager to eliminate any and all resistance.

"They're in my Chocolate Room," Wonka said indignantly, resentfully staring at the monitors. "Those nasty men are in MY BEAUTIFUL CHOCOLATE ROOM!" He glared over at one of the Operations Oompa-loompas. "Take care of them, will you? Set the remaining defenses to hold them as long as possible, then get everyone to the ships. We're pulling out!" The Operations chief snapped to. "You heard the Fuhrer! Let's move!" Loompas frantically punched in last-minute commands at their consoles, rigging what defenses the Antarctic Base had left. The Operations chief, meanwhile, moved to the main engineering console, readying systems for the enabling of the final protocol. In the corridors outside, the few remaining Loompas, all panicked and disorganized, were making their way in a single direction: toward the hangars. Automatic fire rang out on all sides, still a fair distance from the control room. The sound, however, was magnified within the tight hallways of the base, making it sound as if the mercenary teams were only just around the corner.

In the hangar, meanwhile, Loompas flooded the landed transport ships, piling themselves into the cargo holds when seating ran out. A few snipers stood guard on the catwalks which ran between the docked ships, a final defense in case the mercs made it in here before the fleet could be launched. The flow of civilians, however, quickly slowed as the mercenaries penetrated deeper into Wonka's stronghold…and soon stopped entirely. Of the base's entire huge population, perhaps ten percent survived to make it to the ships. Finally, with every vessel packed from nose to stern with Loompas, the gigantic launch doors opened and Wonka's fleet rocketed out into the icy sky. One single ship remained behind for the Fuhrer and his guards, and it was all that would be needed. Those Oompa-loompas still left behind were military units, sworn to fight to the death.

Vincent strode forward cautiously across the surreal landscape of the enormous chamber, its seemingly natural structures composed entirely of…candy? Vincent was not hard-pressed to believe the thought; there was no denying Wonka had genius…which would soon be put to an end. At that moment, however, Vincent's thoughts were interrupted by loud screams from behind him. Behind himself and his four elite, a hundred more mercs spread out in a cordon across the cavernous room. The men closest to the entrance, however, were collapsing; pierced through by…it only took Vincent an instant to realize what was happening. A green wave was sweeping towards him, the soft sugary grass shooting up in crystalline spikes as tall as a man. As they turned horrorstruck to the sounds of their dying comrades, another dozen men were ripped to pieces, impaled on the gigantic glass-like shards. "GET OFF THE GRASS!" someone shouted, rather unnecessarily, as the mercenaries all threw themselves for the comparative safety of what appeared to be a flagstone path running across the sugary meadow. Vincent and his four guards made the leap safely, as did several dozen others; the rest of the men, however, were fatally skewered as the wave of deadly bristles swept across the meadow. The deadly defense mechanism did not linger, however; the wave of green death only lingered for a split second before it disappeared and moved on to the next spot, sweeping like a wave across water. But in its passing, it easily killed half of Vincent's troops. And Vincent had sufficient tactical insight to know what came next. Not far ahead was the chocolate river; Loompa soldiers threw themselves down along the opposite bank and opened fire. Explosive jawbreakers cut into the surviving mercenaries, who promptly returned fire. Grenades arced over the river and exploded, sending candy grass and soil flying. One explosive fell short and landed in the chocolate river; it detonated and sent a plume of liquid chocolate blasting twelve feet into the air. Sticky dark drops rained down on the Loompas as they focused their shots, forcing the mercenaries back behind whatever cover they could find. A dozen soldiers took refuge behind an enormous candy tree…only they did not stay there for long. Vincent noticed something strange; the Loompas in here were wearing gas masks with full rebreathers…and he soon found out why. The Loompas took aim and fired, shooting not at the invading troops but at the huge candy fruit hanging from the tree branches around them. The gigantic globes of brilliant and shocking color detonated, releasing a fine dust of airborne sugar. Several of the soldiers inhaled it and instantly doubled over, suffocating as the powder entered their lungs.

"I don't have time for this!" Vincent growled, gesturing to his four guards. The mercenaries would soon be reinforced, but in the meantime Chadworth had other priorities. Firing on the move, he dropped several of the Loompas as he and his four troops ran along the riverbank, moving away from the battle. They angled upstream to the source of the river…a huge waterfall of liquid chocolate. Vincent threw off his bulky winter gear…he would find a new jacket before he left, and in the meantime the thick parka would do nothing but slow him down. Unslinging rope and grappling harnesses, the five men quickly ascended the steep candy slopes at the waterfall's side, making their way up to the yawning tunnel where the chocolate river emerged from deeper within the factory. Vincent lowered a boot into the thick sticky substance, checking for depth. "It's not deep; just stay at the edges!" One of his men looked at him, then at the brown river in clear distaste. "Do you have a better idea?" Vincent barked. "My gear's going to be sticky as hell," the Malay replied. "Not to mention this sort of looks like wading in a giant stream of poop," another man added matter-of-factly. Vincent glared. "If you want to spend half an hour fighting your way through the vanguard back there then go ahead, but this is the fastest way to our target! And it does not look like poop, you imbecile!" "Yeah, it does," the solider remarked under his breath as he reluctantly sank up to his waist in chocolate.

Wonka drew a jawbreaker pistol from beneath his coat. "Get to your ships!" He shouted at the Operations staff. The Operations chief rushed to his side. "My Fuhrer, what are you doing? We have to get out of here!" Willy smiled grimly. "There's some…business…I have to attend to. Do you still have a reading on the five men presently RUINING MY CHOCOLATE?" "Yes, my Fuhrer." "And have you sealed off the tunnels?" "Yes, my Fuhrer." "Good!" Willy's face split into a cheerful grin. "Then I'll know right where to find them."

Vincent and his men climbed up out of the artificial canal, rich chocolaty goodness dripping off of their boots and uniforms. "I don't like it," one of the men whispered. "They've blocked the tunnels, leading us right in here. It has to be a trap." Vincent turned with a truly terrifying expression on his face, a savage look of glee seldom seen on human features. "I'm counting on it. Rifles up." The team moved toward the single door ahead, a steel access door. To Vincent's disgust, it was not even locked. _Far too obvious, Wonka_, he thought. _If this is your idea of unwittingly leading us into a trap, you must be losing your touch_. Vincent kicked the door open and quickly moved through, sweeping right to left with his rifle. A corridor lead to another door, which opened into…_What the hell was this place?_ It was filled with strange machines, devices of indescribable complexity and unimaginable function. At first Vincent believed it to be a laboratory, but…it was almost more like a museum. Vincent's men fanned out amongst the machines, invisibly flanking him. Vincent's eyes were drawn to a huge device in the center of the room just ahead, from which rose a series of glass tubes like the pipes of a calliope. Vincent's eyes swept the machine…he caught the distorted movement behind the glass, and his body was already moving when the shot rang out. Something slammed into his shoulder, ricocheting off his tactical gear. "I hate this gun!" came a very loud and distinctive voice behind the machine, "Stupid thing always pulls to the left! Stupid rotten gun! I ought to throw this thing across the room, only then I would be disarmed, and that wouldn't be very smart!"  
>A figure emerged into the open, a figure clad in a flamboyant top hat and purple cloak. Vincent snapped his sights onto the target. His four elite emerged from amongst the machines, forming around him and all bringing their guns to bear. "Wonka." Vincent's voice was a growl. The candymaker smiled at them. "I'm sorry, kids, but we're all out of free samples for today. If you try back next week…" Wonka's eyes locked with Vincent's, and suddenly the candymaker's words trailed off into a silent expression of disbelief. His voice was scarcely above a whisper when it came. "Vincent? Little Vinnie?" Vincent grinned malignantly. "You know I always hated that nickname, Willy." "It…it can't…" Vincent laughed nastily. "I know. I'm supposed to still be rotting in prison. I won't bother you with the details of my escape or any of the other lovely aspects of my incarceration, but here I am. And I suppose I should thank you, by the way, for that wonderful, life-changing experience. I should thank you for a lot of things. You killed my father, you killed my brother, you've all but driven the other brother insane…and you gave me the opportunity to spend over a decade in hell. But now I do get to thank you…in the most appropriate manner I know of. Goodbye, Wonka."<p>

At that instant, one of Vincent's men shouted in alarm, and instantly the room erupted into chaos. Panels opened along the walls to reveal the windows of an upper observation gallery; a dozen Loompas appeared and instantly began unloading on Vincent's troops. One of the fighters screamed and fell as three candy bullets punched through the neck of his protective gear. Vincent's eyes snapped to the falling form of the dead man and then back to where Wonka had stood only a second before…only to find that the candymaker had disappeared. His roar of fury was audible over the gunfire, and he threw himself forward heedless of the Loompas. Raising their rifles, his three surviving soldiers fired off quick bursts and the Loompas fell. They then rushed after Vincent, who was already to the far end of the chamber in his single-minded pursuit. The flapping purple cloak ahead of him was the only object that Vincent's mind registered. He emptied his rifle on the run and threw the depleted firearm aside; two wicked silver knives appearing from his tactical vest. Several Loompas raised weapons to fire at him from a doorway ahead, but they never got the chance. Vincent's blades whipped outward faster than the eye could track, and the Loompas fell without Chadworth ever breaking stride. A turn, a corridor, another turn…and Vincent emerged into the largest single enclosed space he had ever seen. It was clearly a massive hangar, crisscrossed by catwalks and gantries, and hanging from a mechanical cradle in the center of the huge open space was…the large, sleek form was like no aircraft Vincent had ever seen, and he knew in an instant he was not looking at any airplane. Wonka was about to pass beyond all reach…something that Vincent would not allow. Directly ahead, the candymaker was scrambling up the side of a huge launch tower, climbing up a narrow staircase that circled the structure several times before terminating at the ship's boarding hatch. Vincent stopped and drew his pistol; at this range, Wonka would be an easy target…rifles were raised on either side of him, and his men opened fire, bullets sparking off the steel only inches from Wonka's top hat…  
>"PROTECT THE FUHRER!" The cry came in the form of a mechanical bellow, and massive forms dropped from the gantries overhead, slowing themselves with quick bursts of rocket exhaust before they slammed into the concrete floor. The power-armored Loompas threw themselves on Vincent's men with a fury, revealing a weapon Vincent had not seen on the other units outside; the nearest armored Loompa drew his arm back to strike, and a huge curved blade deployed from each forearm, glowing with an envelope of energy. Vincent rolled and dodged the deadly blow; he threw himself upright; his pistol raised…only to watch as Wonka disappeared around the corner of the tower and began ascending the next set of stairs. Vincent did not have time for this. He rushed up the stairs after Wonka, intent only on intercepting his nemesis before he reached his ticket to freedom.<p>

On the hangar floor below, Vincent's Malaysian fighters gave a magnificent performance of their skills. Dodging and rolling, they evaded the clumsy blows of the mechanically-armored troopers. Taking advantage of the natural footholds provided by the machines' design, they swiftly leapt atop the behemoths. Though the Loompas' armor may have been thick, nothing but a thin polymer body glove protected their necks. Surrounded by a heavy collar of armor, they may have been safe enough under most circumstances…but not now. Knives whipped across throats, and pistols were jammed down into neck joints. Within the space of an instant, three of the armored Loompas fell at once…and the carnage continued. The heavy power armor became a blessing rather than a curse; the Loompas may have been strong, but they were too slow to keep their targets in their sights. Even as the hulking armored corpses fell, however, more dropped down to take their places.

Vincent hurled himself upward, now no more than a few yards behind his quarry. Suddenly the staircase shook as a huge form crashed down just in front of him, the steel bending from its sudden impact. The armored trooper drew back an arm, and Vincent leapt; throwing himself against the soldier's chest, his right arm hooked around and drove a knife through the side of the Loompa's neck. There was a strangled sort of noise from within the suit, and Vincent was again moving as the armored trooper tumbled backward off the side of the tower. Wonka reached the final expanse of flat catwalk that lead up to the ship's hatch, Vincent no more than two yards behind. The second he was again on flat steel, Vincent's hand shot to his holster. The pistol came up squarely on Wonka's back…ah, this was perfect…the candymaker started to turn, sensing Vincent behind him…Vincent's finger was tightening on the trigger…when two huge shapes landed ahead of him. The entire catwalk shook, throwing off his aim…another two massive forms crashed down, and the entire walkway wrenched free of its supports and fell. The gun flew from Vincent's hands; he reached for a girder and nearly caught, only to have the metal slip through his gloves…he seized another crossbeam, and instantly the entire momentum of his fall was transferred to his shoulders. Vincent gave a roar of pain as he came to a jarring stop; the heavy troopers were not so lucky. Their drop was significantly farther than those of their compatriots; though they tried to slow themselves down with their jump packs, it was of no avail. The huge armored shapes crashed to the hangar's floor, having sacrificed themselves in the Fuhrer's defense. Vincent looked up to watch as orange fire roared from the back of the ship's engines, quickly intensifying to a brilliant blue glow. "NO!" He screamed, watching the vessel break away from its cradle and soar out into the black sky. "NOOOOO!"  
>Muttering curses unimaginable, Vincent dropped the rest of the way to the hangar floor, a fall of about ten feet. He transferred most of his momentum into a backwards roll as he hit; nevertheless, he felt his knee give a sharp pang as he leapt up. Neither the pain in his leg nor his shoulders was even noticed as he ran to where his men were standing amidst the huge metal heaps of dead heavy Loompas. "HE GOT AWAY!" He jabbed a finger in the direction of one of the three soldiers. "GET BACK TO THE SURFACE AND GET ON THE LINE TO ENGLAND! NOW!" The man snapped about and rushed to do as bidden. Vincent, meanwhile, strode out of the hangar with his other two guards in tow. Upon reaching the room where Wonka had first appeared, they found that dozens of reinforcements had now arrived. "Sir, the factory is all but secured," a soldier reported as Vincent approached. "We have all sectors under control…save for this one. We have captured a number of prisoners and sizable amounts of…" "It hardly matters!" Vincent bellowed. "We've lost Wonka!" He stood for a moment, his rage cooling into sullen resolve. The soldier stood, looking fearful. Vincent again turned to the man. "Forgive me. There is still work to be done. While the advance team is checking this last sector, have the rest of the men secure any items of interest. Laboratory equipment, weapons, computer servers…even take candy stockpiles if you find them." "Candy, sir?" "Have you forgotten that you are working for a candy company?" "N-no, sir. It will be done, sir." "Good. Now where the hell is Langford?" "He was killed, sir. Some type of Wonka experiment. Giant gummy bears, or so I heard. The flamethrowers cleared them out, though." "Good. Very good. Carry on, soldier." Vincent considered the news of Langford's death. "Too bad," he thought aloud, "Just when I thought I might actually get along with the man."<p>

Miles above the earth, Willy Wonka looked down on the white expanse of Antarctica, rapidly receding below the ship. "That was too close, Willy," he murmured to himself, "Way too close." His face then split into a bright smile. "But not to worry!" he announced cheerfully to no one in particular. He turned to the ship's main control panel, opening a remote link to the factory's main computer. Automation was magnificent. With the entire system ready, Willy brought the activation key up on the ship's touch-screen. Three words were clearly displayed: "FLUSH VALVES READY." And below were two digital buttons, one labeled COMMIT and the other ABORT. Wonka pretended to play "eenie-meenie-minie-moe" before he brought his finger down firmly on COMMIT.

Vincent stood in the factory's control room, watching as the mercenary's computer teams hacked into the Wonka mainframe. He glanced over at the merc sergeant. "Have they finished in Sector Two yet?" The officer keyed his radio. "Iverson, how are you boys doing? Iverson? Iverson, come in. What the…" The soldier pulled the radio off of his chest and began fiddling with the antenna. A cold breeze seemed to blow across the back of Vincent's neck…only it was not his imagination. Cold air was rushing into the room, the air pressure suddenly rising. Vincent felt his ears pop…and that was when he suddenly became aware of a distant rumbling, a subsonic growl at the very lowest edge of hearing…he glanced up to see the overhead lights trembling in their sockets. By now every soldier in the chamber was standing up from their work, some of them drawing weapons…and all of their eyes turned toward the door. "What the hell is that?" someone said. The rumbling was growing in volume, the room now shaking with the intensity of a small earthquake. A brief transmission broke through on the radio, but the man got out no more than a few words before he was cut off. "Sarge, we got some serious…" The sergeant struggled to make his voice heard over the ominous rumbling. "Check the hallways! Move!" Soldiers moved quickly out of the chamber and fanned out down the passages on either side. Vincent and his three guards followed in the rear, more cautiously. Several shouts of alarm rang out from the left and were suddenly silenced. Blackness was sweeping down the corridor, the lights vanishing suddenly one after the other…and then the roar hit its crescendo, and Vincent saw exactly why. Millions of gallons of seawater rushed down the corridor, a crushing wall of water that filled the hallway from floor to ceiling. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Behind Vincent, the mercenary soldiers fled, but he and his guards stood firm. Vincent looked back at his men, his face contorted in a bitter smile. "I may not like Wonka, but I have to give the man some credit." The wave hit with the force of concrete, and Vincent Anthony Chadworth knew no more.  
>It took roughly ten minutes for the "flush" to completely sweep out Wonka's Antarctic Base, but when the damage was done, it was complete. All of Wonka's secrets were brushed away; destroyed by the ravaging waters of the ocean and swept out to sea…along with an army of mercenaries over three thousand strong.<p>

_Seven days later…_

A serene breeze blew through the desolate plot of land, teasingly caressing the back of the mourner's neck. JR, alone, despondently gazed down at the headstones that lay neatly arranged before him, his head hung low in remorse. They bore the names of the members of his family and their contributions to society. _Melissa Chadworth, beloved mother; Stephen Xavier Chadworth, a man of great strength; Charles Lavernius Chadworth, loyal unto death; _and_ Vincent Anthony Chadworth_, whose body could not be recovered, _a man that no prison could contain._ These were the names of the fallen, and JR's eyes brimmed with tears of anger, sorrow, and self-pity as he gazed down at them. But he refused to show his despair; he stood stoically there, in the center of the graveyard, reflecting on his own life and plotting his next action. _It's all because of Wonka_, he thought bitterly. _He wants to kill us all, to destroy the honorable name of Chadworth. Well, I won't let him… not without a fight. _He turned then, in his mind, allowing the bitterness to upend his sanity. And, as the lunacy came over him, a delicious idea formed in Chadworth's mind….

"You want me to do _what_?" the voice on the other end protested skeptically. JR, the caller, growled irately, "You heard me. Set this task as your chief priority… or else your next paycheck may not find its way to you." "But sir," the other argued, "such an action would be a breach of international security… An investigation would be sure to ensue, and someone would undoubtedly locate the source of the projectile." For a few moments, the hum of static filled the line, until JR spoke again, this time through gritted teeth. "I don't care about international affairs. This is about revenge, for all those who have been lost in the war, for the honor of my family; I think it's time that Wonka is given a taste of my wrath. We managed to destroy one of his factories without raising any uproar… I'm sure that it will be the same in this case. Do as I say: nuke him." There was a sigh from the other end, and the speaker replied reluctantly, "Very well, sir. The warhead will be prepped." JR hung up, panting in anticipation, and grinned maliciously. "He thinks that he has ruined me…. He thinks that he has won… Well, HE HASN'T! YOU HAVE MET YOUR END, WONKA!" He laughed maniacally, which brought in his secretary. At the sound of the opening door, JR stopped in midlaugh and glanced in her direction. "Is everything all right, Mr. Chadworth?" the secretary asked, genuinely concerned. JR coughed to cover his discomfiture, then smiled pleasantly. "Yes, everything is fine." She nodded and left, puzzlement showing in her eyes. JR watched her leave, and grinned devilishly when she was gone. _Oh yes, everything is fine indeed_.

The chopper lift to the base had seemed to take no time at all; to JR's warped mind, time no longer seemed to hold any meaning. With the recent death of his brother Vincent hanging over his head, the last vestiges of his sanity had finally fallen away, only be replaced by manic desire. It no longer mattered that he was the last living Chadworth, or that his beloved corporation was falling to pieces. All that mattered now was his sole directive: to destroy Wonka and his assets at all costs.

The sun's noonday radiance filtered through the stratum of high, papery cirrus clouds; JR shielded his sight from the glare with an outstretched hand, the sunlight glinting off his dark glasses. He turned to the man beside him, a former assistant that had been chosen to replace the late Langford. "You called?" The man answered slowly, the doubt in his voice clear. "I'm not so sure it would be wise to carry out the directive you requested, sir." Chadworth's brow raised in question. "Why not?" "Well, for all we know, Wonka may not even be at the proposed location any longer. If he did in fact manage to eliminate Vincent and Langford, then it stands to reason that he would abandon his base while he had the chance." JR's expression hardened. "You think I don't know that?" He growled. "Whether or not Wonka is there, his legacy must be eliminated… his factories must be destroyed." "But…" "WHATEVER IT TAKES TO AVENGE MY BROTHERS' DEATHS!" JR calmed himself, straightening his glasses with one hand. He rubbed his chin pensively as he glanced skyward once more, noting the thin cloud cover. "Do you think the extreme weather down South will impede my plan?" The other crossed his arms, pondering as he watched the waves lap against the distant shore. "Well, nothing short of a cataclysmic hailstorm would be enough to ground this baby," he said, proudly referring to the modified B-25 that rested twenty feet away on the aircraft carrier's runway. "But considering the reports we've received, it appears that we chose the worst time to attack. The storms that barrage Antarctica at this time of the year are highly unpredictable; they come and go without much warning and generate winds that could easily dwarf the vicious gales created by a category 5 hurricane, for which we have not yet tested this model against." "Well, be sure you do; I don't want to leave anything to chance." "Yes, sir." The supervisor walked toward the bridge in order to relay the command. JR watched in silence as he left. Now alone, he glanced at the vehicle that was to bring devastation to Wonka's factory; it was a large, sturdy aircraft, a reminiscent piece of the World Wars whose modern, streamlined shape and fresh coat of light-absorbent paint evidenced the modifications that had been made upon it for the specific purpose of this mission. The warhead itself would not be armed and placed in the clamp under the bomber's wing until after the aircraft carrier had made its passage to the seas bordering Antarctica, but JR had seen the fearsome weapon as it lay in storage within the bowels of the fortress. _Would it be through this weapon that Wonka would finally meet his end?_

He stood on the bridge, gazing out toward the sea as the massive ship progressed southward. He watched with mild curiosity as the flight crew hastened about below, clearing the flight deck in anticipation of the inclement weather to come. It was all a routine to him by now, really, despite the fact that he had only worked on this ship for the better part of a year. "Captain Luxord." A passing crewmember saluted him, and the captain dipped his head in reply. He quickly returned to his thoughts, allowing the sound of the ships engines to lull him. At first, it had seemed like a very fulfilling career, directing such a massive vessel across the seas toward imminent battle. But now, the rewards didn't appear as promising as they had a year before, when the ship had belonged to a true military. Now, in the service of Chadworth Industries, he had been directed to maneuver the ship to the southern end of the world. For what reason, he had no idea; all he knew was that it had nothing to do with him. He was just here to command.

The ship had crossed the Antarctic Circle, and the Captain glanced apprehensively toward the horizon, where the sun had been, full and bright, just minutes ago. The sky was now dark purple, nearly pitch black, as if dusk had come in a matter of seconds. And, from what he had been told, the heavens would remain that way for a matter of months. _This is eerie_, he thought. He turned from the bridge's window, and stepped toward the bank of monitors that comprised the ship's navigation systems. He looked at the pilot, who was busy at the controls. "Well?" The man scanned the readings on one of the screens. "We're nearing our anchor point; there's a good place up ahead; not too shallow, and it's a significant distance from the shore." The Captain nodded, but looked up when something on the screen caught his eye. "What's that?" "Huh?" the pilot turned to see, his expression becoming anxious. "That's the radar…" "I know that, you imbecile. I meant _that_!" Luxord snapped. He pointed to a cluster of odd points marked on the monitor. The pilot took a moment to find his voice. "Those objects just off the shore are ships... and if these readings are correct, they match the descriptions of our own. The ones that carried Langford and the others." "What are they still doing here?" the pilot shook his head. "How should I know?" "Right." Luxord turned to another man. "You, Jacobs. You have the dossier on the previous mission?" the man nodded. "Well explain this to me. Why are those ships still there?" Jacobs bit his lip in apprehension. "That's the problem, sir. We don't know. The ships were supposed to head back to base if Vincent and Langford did not verify the capture of Wonka's headquarters." "Did they maintain communications with the base?" Jacobs scanned the details of the file, his gaze troubled. "It says here that base lost contact with them shortly after they airlifted all the troops to shore. The captain said that they would wait for twenty-four hours tops for them to return, and that Vincent had authorized them to leave if needed. But apparently, they didn't weigh anchor at all." It was Luxord's turn to be puzzled, and he stroked his beard pensively while glancing out the window_. It's so dark_… "Sir?" He turned to face the first mate, who had just addressed him. "We should commence the procedure before the winds pick up again. It's a bit of luck that we arrived just as the storm blew past." Luxord shook his head. "No, not yet." "What? Why not? Mr. Chadworth said…" "_Mr. Chadworth_ had men on those ships out there. They're not responding to our attempts to communicate with them. I believe that our employer is unaware of their fate, and that it would be in his best interest for us to investigate." The other merely nodded. "Yes, sir."

The chilling wind had momentarily ceased, and now the sound of waves crashing against the ice shelf in the distance could be heard plainly. The team of five men had disembarked from the ship, taken over the dark water by helicopter. The bird alighted on the deck of one of the three Tarawas, which was set into ice, the ocean around it having frozen completely. The deck itself was slick with ice, and the men had to be careful as they jumped from their craft; the footwear they had worn was not meant for treading across smooth surfaces, and one of them nearly fell when he lost his footing. They glanced back to the pilot, who signaled that he would stay there until they returned, and the men nodded their acknowledgement before departing into the darkness.

The radio receiver hissed with static as the team relayed their observations. "Captain, this is Redford. We're on the ship. I can still feel the vibration of the fission reactors… so the ship must still be functional. I'm thinking the crew may just have lost communications from the storm and are stuck in the ice. The pilot has agreed to stay on the flight deck. May we continue into the lower levels?" Luxord palmed the radio and pressed the transmit button. "Roger, Redford. Proceed with caution." "Affirmative.

Redford led the other four, feeling quite ridiculous in the bulky gear he had been required to don in order to escape the cold. _This_ _is definitely not my element_. They stepped carefully across the frosty tarmac, heading for the elevators_. If my theory is correct, then the elevators should still be in order. _Redford doubted that the pulley system that the elevators used would be serviceable in this weather, but he could always hope. They reached the portal, and he pressed the button, willing the door to open. To his great surprise, the panel slid open with a slight crackling of ice, permitting them entrance to the elevator's compartment, which was both lit and heated. Redford was perplexed, but accepted this little miracle. _Perhaps the crew is still alive, and we were just overanalyzing the situation_. He and his men entered the elevator, reveling in the warmth despite only having been outside for half an hour. Redford radioed Luxord.

"We're in. The elevator seems to be in working order." Luxord released a small sigh of relief, having feared that his men would have had to take the stairs; an unpleasant thought when one worked in the possibility of ice-slicked steps and a drop toward certain death. Pressing the transmit button, he spoke. "Very good. Let's hope that this is a sign that the crew is still functional, just hunkered down from the cold." "Affirmative."

Redford examined the panel of buttons on the elevator's side, deciding where to begin the search of the ship. After a moment's pause, he pressed the button for the engine room. "Why go there?" one of the men asked. "Let's just start from the bottom up." Redford told him wryly, glancing upward as the elevator began to descend. "We might as well. It is probably the warmest part of the ship; if the crew is still here, that's where I figure they would be." his men nodded, seeing his point. After a few moments, the elevator decelerated, and the door slid open. Redford and his men stepped out, squinting because of the sudden change in light. "What the-" Gunfire rang out, and Redford had barely enough time to dodge as a spray of bullets impacted the ground where he had been. His men were not as lucky; they were struck head-on, dead before they even hit the floor. Redford turned, his eyes wild as he tried to pinpoint the location of his attackers. He ducked as another hail of projectiles missed him, and he heard a small growl of frustration come from behind him. He mashed the transmit button on his radio, running for the elevator for all he was worth. "Luxord, this is Redford, I-" "Hello." He turned his head toward the source of the voice and blinked in surprise, coming face to face with the barrel of a miniaturized MP-5. "Oh."

Luxord heard the sound of a bullet impacting flesh, and the shattering of bone; for a full minute he stood staring at the radio, stunned at the sudden turn in events. "Sir?" the first mate tapped his shoulder. "Sir, the team is lost, and we cannot raise the pilot, either." Captain Luxord sighed. _It's my fault. _He set his jaw, determined not to lose anyone else for the sake of this mission. "It's time. Arm the weapon; load it; launch it. Then we can get out of this godforsaken place." The first mate nodded, and relayed the directive to the flag bridge. Within minutes, the flight deck became a scene of frenzy, the flight crew prepping the B-25.

The wind had returned, but it was weak enough for the aircraft, fully armed, to launch into the darkness of the perpetual Antarctic night. The pilot, flying only by sensor readings navigated to the location of Wonka's factory before dropping his lethal payload. He was completely out of visible range from the point of impact when the nuke ignited.

Luxord was able to see the brightness of the blast pierce the darkness like a beam from heaven. The radiance stung his eyes, but he took comfort in the fact that he was too far away from the explosion for it to do any real damage to him… unlike the poor inhabitants at McMurden, who would surely be feeling the effects of radiation before the next twenty-four hours were out. He turned back to his crew, who had gathered to watch behind him. "A successful hit; right on target, I assume?" "Of course, sir." Luxord smiled dryly. "As soon as the B-25 lands, we have to get rid of those stranded vessels, understand? I don't want them falling into enemy..." A great shattering sound interrupted him, and all eyes turned to the window. They were only able to see as far as the ship's lights permitted, but it was enough for them to catch sight of the three Tarawa battleships breaking out of the ice. Luxord's blood froze. _But who is running them? _His question was answered when one of the three ships initiated fire on the larger craft. "BATTLE STATIONS!" He cried, wishing that there was an Admiral in charge instead of him. The ship became a place of frenzied action, everyone running to his or her station in order to attain the greatest defensive stance. Luxord's ship turned broadside, exposing her cannons to the enemy. When the adversary came into range, they returned fire, tearing a hole in the side of one of the smaller vessels and sinking it beautifully. Just when Luxord thought that they had evened the odds a bit, dark, streamlined shapes breached the surface of the water alongside their ship. By the time he had spotted them, it was too late. The submarines launched their missiles, blowing massive chunks out of the hull of the ship. Luxord observed this, his face expressionless as he watched from the bridge. His first mate, in shock, yelled at him. "WE'RE SINKING!" "I know." Luxord answered quietly, the floor shaking tremulously as the bridge began to collapse. "I know."

JR was sitting quietly at the dining room table, a cup of tea in his hand, and feeling the emptiness of the manor home eating away at him. There was nothing to live for now. According to the latest reports, his last attempt to destroy Wonka's Factory had gone successfully, yet he still felt ungratified. He may have finally destroyed his nemesis and restored his family's honor, but what was it worth if his family was all dead, his business failed? He slammed his open palm against the table, making the liquid in his mug splash across the table's polished surface, and on the numerous forms for filing bankruptcy that had been left unread. He saw the mess that he had made, but he didn't trouble himself to clean it. _Let it rot the wood, for all I care. _He sat there, staring at the puddle on the table, transfixed as he watched the stacks of paper soak up the liquid, until a knock on the door stirred him from his brooding. _Vincent's men will get it_… The knocking continued. _Oh yeah, they're all dead._ _I forgot._ He got up and walked to the door, not bothering to straighten his disheveled suit as he did so. The door opened upon a bunch of darkly-clad men, who looked suspiciously at JR when he opened the door. "Can I help you?" One man, having a Scottish accent, answered first. "Are you JR Chadworth, son of Stephen Xavier Chadworth?" JR gazed pleasantly at them. "Oh, so you knew my father?" "Mr. Chadworth, we're with Interpol. We think you may be connected with an incident that occurred a few days ago- in Antarctica." JR's eyes widened, his surprise visible despite the dark glasses he wore. "Antarctica? My friends, whatever would someone like me have to do with that place? You see, I'm a candymaker by trade… just like my father before me." "Really. Well, then, does the name 'Wes Langford' have any meaning to you?" Here, JR lost his smile. "That man was a failure. He failed me, he failed the company…" "Failed? How?" "Well, by failing to destroy Wonka, of course!" "What?" The men exchanged uncomfortable glances. "Mr. Chadworth, we'd like you to come with us… for security reasons. Just so we can get the details of the story straight." JR nodded, his eyes cold as ice. "All right, I'll come. Just leave my father out of it."

Their questioning had been thorough, and JR had seen no reason to refuse giving them the answers they sought. In his current state of apathy, he didn't care what happened anymore. His candy business had hit rock bottom, all his relatives were dead. The other assets in his possession would soon be found out. Why not just give these people the answers they wanted?

"Mr. Chadworth, you are charged with an international offense; for sponsoring a group that was involved in criminal activities, for using their services in order to expand your company's power, and for producing and launching a nuclear weapon during a time of peace in a zone that was declared 'weapons free' by an international pact. However, your attorney has told us of your decision, and I would like for the court to hear it from you; is it true that you desire to plead insanity?" "Yes. But would you believe _me_ if I said no?" JR met the judge's sight with a look of steel, and the judge shifted his gaze to look over the crowd. "Very well, then. You are hereby sentenced to mental rehabilitation; you may integrate back into society only when the institute declares that your therapy is complete. JR nodded slowly, fully comprehending the seriousness of the verdict, but not really caring. "Court dismissed." The judge pounded his gavel, and the people began to gather their belongings and leave. The bailiff gave JR a hard look before turning to exit the room, but JR merely stared off into the distance impassively. A man came to stand beside him, looking him up and down before taking him by the shoulder. Excuse me, Mr. Chadworth, but I'm here to take you to the institute." JR turned to stare dully at the man, but nodded, noting his escort's white coat. "Don't worry, JR. I'll take good care of you. We will get you back to being self dependant before you know it. "And who are you?" JR asked resignedly. The doctor smiled repentantly at his new patient before replying, as if looking upon JR reminded him of some distant memory linked with sadness. "I am Dr. Aban Corson."


	10. CH 10: Epilogue

**A/N: **The end

* * *

><p>Epilogue<p>

"My Fuhrer, are you all right?" The Oompa-loompa cast a worried glance at Willy Wonka, who had stumbled as he exited the shuttle. "I'm fine," Willy snapped defensively, straightening his top hat as he crossed the threshold of the Space Factory. He had to admit: he was feeling slightly worn out, and his legs felt oddly weak. He had not been ill lately, despite his old age, but the thought that he had contracted some sort of disease worried him; he attempted to hide his fear, and decided to accredit the exhaustion to his near encounter with death. He glanced about himself as he journeyed through the base; the Oompa-loompas who had built it had done a wonderful job, making it in nearly the same layout as the last factory. Distracted, Willy didn't see the small flight of stairs, and stumbled once again, this time a loud snap coinciding with his collapse. Oompas came running to their leader's aid; Willy lay cursing on the floor as doctors came to his assistance. "How did this happen?" Willy demanded angrily, "I haven't broken any bones before, and I've fallen farther than this." One of the Oompa-doctors shook his head as he splinted Wonka's broken shin. "I don't know, my Fuhrer. We'll have to do an x-ray and some blood tests before we can make any prognosis. "But until then, you must rest in order for the bone to set properly." Wonka, though reluctant, complied with a nod.

The Oompa's voice seemed like a part of the background to Wonka, more of a white noise that didn't matter than anything of real importance. The tests had come in, showing that Willy's bones had become brittle through a disease similar to osteoporosis, his skeletal system deteriorating at an astonishing rate. "The blood tests weren't much better," the doctor continued, glancing down at the sheets in his hand, "the degenerative disease is literally destroying you, my Fuhrer... and there's nothing we can do about it." Wonka bowed his head, the proclamation of his doom ringing loudly in his ears. "How long?" The doctor looked up. "What?" "How long... do I have

to live?" Willy asked without raising his head. The Oompa doctor sighed. "I don't know for sure, my Fuhrer; the best I can guess is about thirty days, maybe more… depending on whether we can develop some kind of treatment of your condition." Willy nodded slowly, his eyes drawn to the window. The Earth revolved slowly, hundreds of miles beneath them. Chadworth was down there somewhere, not dead, but punished in the worst way. He would die eventually, just as Wonka was soon to die; it was the cycle of life that is as predictable as the Earth's revolutions. _At least_, Willy reflected, _I have the Oompa-loompas and my factory... the people who love my candies, and the joy that I have brought them. Chadworth has nothing; his business is destroyed, his family dead, and his customers have lost faith in him. I have defeated him after all. _

He continued to look out the window as the station orbited the Earth, absorbing the moment. It seemed that the moments were much sweeter now that there were fewer of them, and Willy wanted to enjoy the ones he had left. So now he watched, reveling in the beauty of outer space; the picture of the blue and green of Earth swathed in pale white forever imprinted in his mind, as the sun appeared on the other side.


End file.
